


How to Steal a Million Dollar Prototype

by overworkedunderwhelmed



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), How to Steal a Million (1966)
Genre: A Few Other Characters Make a Brief Appearance, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Eventual Fluff, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Hate to Love, Heist, How to Steal a Million AU, Intrigue, Jemma is not to be trifled with, Mini-Lola, More to Follow! - Freeform, Romantic Comedy, TFSN Rom Com Challenge, Too Many Koenigs!, fsromcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 12:59:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7893586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overworkedunderwhelmed/pseuds/overworkedunderwhelmed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In spite of the male-dominated academic world, Jemma Simmons has succeeded in nearly every endeavor.  When the business world proves far more treacherous, she finds herself seeking help from a most unlikely source and ending up with a far better partner than she had anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> She's armed with knowledge. He's dangerously clever. Together, they will steal a perilous prototype -- and your hearts!
> 
> Thanks to doteleven for her excellent beta reading skills and for AGL03 for being available as I would bounce off the wall ideas past her.
> 
> Large portions of the dialogue are taken directly or modified slightly from William Wyler's 1966 romantic comedy classic, How to Steal a Million.

_London, 1964_

 

Re-adjusting her sunglasses against the bright orange glare of the morning sun, Jemma Simmons motored down the loop in her little, red 1961 Autobianchi Bianchina Special Cabriolet, which she had taken to calling Lola for short. It was her one impractical concession in a life otherwise dedicated to pragmatism and practicality.

Well, she did allow the occasional designer dress or two. But that was truly more about professionalism within her own laboratory.

At school, she had easily succeeded in the primary and secondary levels, but collegiate misogyny reigned supreme. It was a terribly unfortunate truth that Women's programs often didn’t receive the funding or technology for projects that she would have found remotely challenging. 

Her father was Jonathan Simmons, a fairly prestigious executive of long standing at Roxxon Energy Corporation, an obscenely large and powerful international petrochemical conglomerate who often funded many of the graduate programs. He put a fair bit of pressure on several Universities and finally, after much badgering on his part and hers, they had accepted her into a prestigious PhD program at MIT. 

Even getting into the program with a solid dose of nepotism, she needed to outperform everyone there. She had to look flawless, act polite, and still run rings around her male peers. And she succeeded. Perhaps not in changing minds, but in meeting her own standards and proving her own worth.

The business world was not nearly so kind. Milton was a classmate at the University and recommended her for a position when they both graduated. But for all her accomplishments, when she was hired into the small firm, Iliad Technologies,, she still was treated as a junior scientist due to her gender. 

The electric hum of the radio cut through her thoughts, “...equal the record in the coming three months. And now, in the world of science and technology… A scientific conference will convene at the Olympia in London this afternoon to present a myriad of technological updates soon to appear on that market. Hosted by Roxxon, the event features a smaller telephone, enhanced car and plane motors from Stark Technologies London branch, and new innovations in batteries from Iliad Technologies.”

Jemma’s eyebrows winged up. She certainly hadn’t been informed she was presenting her shared project today. Stepping on the gas, she wove her way into the parking garage.

* * *

The low heels of her shoes clacked along the pristine linoleum as she entered the restroom to freshen up her makeup and hair, punctuating the complaints emanating from down the line of sinks. 

It was a truly ridiculous inconvenience, one that none of her male peers would ever need to worry about. But her approach had been successful enough in college, and even a moment’s care lost now might set her back professionally. She didn’t dare leave even a hair out of place before the day had begun.

“I can’t believe he actually asked that,” Victoria tutted, as she re-applied a thick coat of vermillion to her lips.

“And so soon,” Isabelle confided, as she leaned against the bathroom wall. “I’m not even sure that it is possible to reserve a truck so soon. Those rental places usually want at least 24 hours notice.”

Victoria tossed away her tissue after blotting. “Honestly. Dr. Simmons, however do you manage to put up with him?”

Jemma frowned into the mirror as she tamed the last of her stray locks into place. “Who?”

Victoria grinned a bit viciously. “Milton.”

Jemma rolled her eyes at the mention of her nearly incapable lab partner. “He has his uses.” Milton was the only Scientist on staff willing to partner with a female scientist who did not expect her to fetch him tea. Honestly, if Jemma could go to the break room and grab her own, so could any other scientist in the building.

Isabelle and Victoria regarded her with secretive smiles that made Jemma instantly suspicious. “Do I dare ask what he has done this time?”

Isabelle shrugged. “He’s taking the prototype you’ve both been working on out to display for that big scientific conference.”

Jemma’s jaw dropped, her anger flaring in an instant before she was able to collect herself and snap her bag shut.“Excuse me,” she murmured, grabbing her things and striding down the halls to her lab as fast as her heels would allow.

She almost knocked into poor Mr. Gonzales, their CFO as she darted down the hallway.

“Careful, Miss Simmons!” he called after her.

“Sorry, sir!” 

“Honestly,” she grumbled softly, after turning the last corner to her corridor. How many times must she remind them it was ‘Doctor Simmons’?

Sure enough, when she pressed her way through the lab’s door, the prototype equipment was gone.

Jemma grabbed for the phone on the wall, dragging her fingers through the rotary dial as fast as she could. Thankfully, the operator connected her quickly. “This is Doctor Jemma Simmons. Please hold all my calls for the day, I will be out in order to attend the conference in the Olympia.”

* * *

Jemma dug through her purse for the entry fare, embarrassed to realize that Milton and his stupid fat cabbage head hadn’t thought to also register her as a presenter.

With her ticket now in hand, Jemma slung her purse over her shoulder and began to flip through the program book. It only took two pages to answer the question that had been plaguing her since she'd heard the radio ad.

**On future battery capabilities and potential for future technologies** \- _Dr. Milton Taylor, Iliad Technologies_

Jemma scowled. Program books like these took weeks to print. Just how long had Milton been planning to walk away with her work and steal the credit? 

She silently thanked her own forethought in keeping her notes on the electrolyte formulae coded within her lab books. Her father had been a manager in a more cutthroat line of business for as long as she could remember. While her mother still lived, she could recall an occasional dinner table tale or two that had fostered her own caution upon her entry into the working world. It just never really occurred to her that she might ever actually have to deal with the ramifications.

Her finger dragged across the schedule. Milton was due to present in less than an hour, which was sure to be a disaster in its own right. The man could hem and haw for a while, but she doubted he could fill the full hour and a half with a presentation. A sly smile crossed her face as she headed for the lecture hall, and she knew exactly what questions would slip him up. Now she just needed to find someone to ask those questions in her place.

“Ugh.” Lance Hunter groaned as he tugged against the stifling tightness of the tie at his neck. Bad enough he was roped into this monkey suit and standing in a scientific conference that was far out of his element, but now the tape holding the wire to his chest was alternatively chafing and pulling the short hairs. He fussed with the hat he was required to wear inside the wide halls of the Olympia Exhibition Hall. It was a travesty to have to cover his hair, but the receiver and gear was all tucked up into the dome of the hat. 

_“It isn’t that bad, Hunter,”_ came a woman’s voice into his ear piece. 

“Says the one not wearing it,” he muttered.He moved over to the nearest set of pay phones, miming the rotary dial. He didn’t want to appear as though he was talking to himself. 

She didn’t let it drop. _"I wish you wouldn't wear that ridiculous hat though. Especially not indoors. It basically defeats the purpose of trying to blend in."_

Hunter let his irritation elevate his volume a bit. “Well, where else would you suggest I put the ruddy wire?”

The voice on the other end had no compassion for his discomfort. _“Don’t forget I’ve had to wear wires too. And you don’t have to get nearly as creative with where to hide it.”_

Hunter grinned at the thought, having helped her place those wires from time to time. “I'd be more than willing to trade places with you now if you prefer. I could help you find decent hiding spots if you like.”

_“Stay focused, and I’ll see if I can get Fitz to work on some improvements to the wire when he gets back. HQ is interested in the battery technology. It was apparently developed in a smaller, independent lab before Roxxon got its sticky fingers into the mix. Fitz would love to get his hands on the design specs to re-work it for some of the bigger jobs his group has been working with.”_

“And why isn’t he here?”

_“The design details have been under wraps for some time and he was surprised it was on the schedule. By the time we found out, he was already scheduled to be in Paris on another assignment."_

“And what’s with the camera...?”

_“To match your press credentials. Also to snap some photos if you can manage it.”_

“Lovely,” Hunter muttered, fiddling with the lens cap. “You know this means you owe me, right, Bob?”

Her sigh was audible over the line. _“We’ll settle up later, when I’m back in town. The mission comes first.”_

Hunter’s humor faded with her voice over the line. The mission always did come first with her.

* * *

Jemma grinned as a reporter that was clearly out of his depth walked towards the exhibit hall, camera in hand. Surely Milton wouldn’t be able to resist the prospect of free publicity. She walked right into the reporter’s path so he’d have no choice but to respond. “Excuse me. Are you heading into the convention hall?”

He looked impatiently towards the entrance to get the better seating his press credentials demanded.

“This won’t be but a moment.” Jemma smiled shyly, offering him a slip of paper. “I had a question for the speaker, but they so infrequently call on women in the crowd. Would you mind asking it for me?”

“I suppose, love.” His smile was placating. “What sort of question is it?”

“Well, it is perhaps a bit...challenging. I wrote it down for convenience.”

The man blinked as he read over the note. “How do I even pronounce most of this? I’m pretty sure that one word isn’t even Queen’s English.”

“Just do your best.” Jemma smiled. “If all goes will, it will give you a rather excellent scoop for the morning paper.” Jemma waved as she moved toward the back of the line for a seat of her own. “And thank you!”

* * *

Not thirty minutes later, Hunter goggled at the slip of paper the girl had handed him. Anodes and cathodes and electrolytes were all gibberish to him, but the man on the stage, the so called expert, had been flummoxed as well.

_“Any luck putting eyes on that girl? She’s a much more viable lead than that presenter was.”_

His eyes darted about the room as the crowd began to disperse. His eyes caught on a blur of white darting out of the room. He strode quickly towards the exit, stopping just shy of running outright. By the time he reached the door, there was no white visible in the crowds in either direction. “She’s quick.”

_“And clever.”_ He could practically hear Bobbi grinning. _“She’s definitely not someone to be underestimated.”_

Hunter smiled. “I have certainly learned better than to underestimate you.”

_“As well you should. Now, let’s figure out how we can track this girl down.”_

* * *

Jemma pulled into her driveway, tugging off the kerchief that kept her hair in place. Considering how much credibility she had lost in the lab today as a result of Milton’s troubling actions, she was growing more than a bit concerned about all of her other notes. Perhaps she needed to devise a new code. It would take some time to formulate and transcribe, but the concession to security must be worth the investment.

She already had a possible key to the cipher in mind by the time she had returned home and handed her jacket off to Thomas, their long time butler.

“Good Afternoon, Miss.” 

“Is my father in?”

“Yes. However, he is currently entertaining some Gentlemen from work.” His dark, bushy eyebrows furrowed dismissively. “Americans, I should think.”

As if on queue, a spur of laughter erupted from the library, bringing with it her father and three taller men in suits. “It almost seems a shame we have such a tight schedule. I’ve not really had the chance to see the sights, and my daughter always loves when I bring home a souvenir. But we must take the design details back to our R&D group in the States.”

“Ah. A point we’ll need to discuss at length later. I’ll see if my secretary can arrange a tour or two before your departure time tomorrow.” Her father grinned with rather exaggerated cheer that told her the other man’s request seemed unlikely if it was in her father’s power to stop it. “Gentlemen...Allow me to present my daughter, Jemma.”

“Delighted, Miss,” the southern gentleman drawled, pushing his ten gallon hat back over his bald spot.

“So this is the young lady we keep hearing so much about,” the other man smiled. 

“Pleased to meet you.” Jemma smiled tightly. She was trying to place why she felt so...disconcerted. Perhaps it was because the man seemed far less than genuine. The third man remained silent.

"I hear it was your little firm that was working on that new battery we just acquired for quite a hefty sum." The man smiled far too widely. "Tell me, do you know this brilliant Milton fellow that sold it to us?"

Jemma blinked and looked over at her father. "Our paths have crossed," she said through gritted teeth. Mr Simmons adjusted himself uncomfortably but kept his smile in place, motioning to the three men with a nod.

“Jemma, these are Mr. Mallick and Mr. Garret, two of Roxxon’s executives out of the Texas office. Mr. Ward is their assistant. They’ll be staying on for dinner. Then we'll be heading off to the exhibition at the Olympia. Would you like to join us?” 

Jemma grimaced, thinking of a whole host of unpleasant things she would rather do. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling terribly well. Would you mind if I went upstairs to lie down for a bit?”

Her father frowned, but nodded her along up the stairs.

* * *

Jemma trudged into her room, dropping onto the bed and looking up at the familiar patches of popcorn stucco on the ceiling. “What a wretched day.”

Despite being a pain, Milton had always been willing to work with her. His tendency to agree blindly with whatever she said was irritating, but now that he had outright stolen her work and presented it as his own, she had to question every interaction. Perhaps he had only ever been pleasant to her face. One thing was certain: he had used her and her knowledge for his own personal gain.

Milton was barely clever enough to develop new concepts. She often had to do quite a bit of homework into his so called expertise with the engineering and assembly in order to make any of it work. What she wouldn't have given for a competent Engineer on those late nights.

So, how had he been clever -and ruthless- enough to pull the wool over her eyes for so long, and sell the prototype to the highest bidder?

Jemma frowned, starting to ponder the precise coding system to use. She might have to go down to the library to see if she’d be able to find something even more obscure than the shift cipher she’d used before. Perhaps she had something on her shelves here in her bedroom that might inspire an idea. 

She stood, striding over to the over-stuffed bookshelf. As she approached, she grew immediately suspicious. A few of the books were out of place. She certainly wouldn’t have moved anything, preferring her books to be in a precise order.

Had someone been in her room? Jemma’s stomach fell away at the mere thought. Grabbing those out of place books first, she rifled through to locate the most current copy of her brainstorming notes, detailing her step by step research through the various chemical combinations and reactions to find the best fit.

It was gone.

* * *

Mr. Simmons sat in his den, a fortifying half glass of scotch in hand. Dealing with his peers, Mr. Garrett in particular, always grated at his nerves. He needed to be delightfully mellow and congenial for the exhibition gala ahead. Mercifully, both had departed by taxi to dress for the more formal activities planned for the evening, giving him at least a few moments’ peace.

That glass proved even more necessary as his daughter raced into the room, clearly in a fit of pique. “Father, what have you done?”

He stole another sip before responding. “What on earth do you mean, my dear?”

Jemma scowled, punctuating her displeasure with her dry tone. “Dad.”

“I’ve merely given the world a pleasant opportunity to view your work on that battery before it is used to carry us all to the moon and beyond,” he said brightly. “That boy Milton was far too stubborn for his own good. He should have let go of the rights when I told him to and we wouldn’t have needed to buy out the whole bloody company,” he sniffed.

“You bought out Iliad for access to my work?!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I wasn’t the only one to make that decision, and it certainly wasn’t only for access to that battery project. But, if my company also benefits from your brilliant mind, all the better. This house, the staff, and your education did not exactly come cheaply, my dear.”

She blinked, as if momentarily confused. “Papa, it was my work. I won't be given a bit of credit now!”

"I had to get Milton to present that battery without you, darling. You were being too stubborn thinking it wasn't ready yet and keeping all those details under wraps." He set his glass aside. “I’ve heard time and time again from you that he was holding you back. I wish you’d give up that ridiculous job and come and work for me at Roxxon. Everything would be so much simpler if you did so.

Jemma crossed her arms over her chest. "You know very well I don't agree with the principles of that company."

He rolled his eyes. “Honestly, it’s going off to college that’s given you this obsession with causes and righteousness.”

“Those causes are essential.” Jemma frowned. “The damage to the environment alone that companies like Roxxon are doing is incredible. The research is already showing that--”

He scoffed. “The research is quite overrated.”

“Look, Papa…” 

He cut her off, tired of retreading the fight they had been having for the past several years. Quibbling like this would get them nowhere. “The basic trouble with you, my dear, is that you’re honest. I don’t say that to hurt your feelings, Jemma. You just need a meaner mindset to get ahead in this world. Your kindness is a credit to your mother, God rest her soul. But if you mean to press ahead within the business, you must learn to be brave and ruthless.”

Jemma frowned. She had no desire to dabble in office politics. “I’d much rather just create and explore and test in relative peace.”

“If you wish to do nothing more than to tinker, that is just fine,” he said patronizingly. “But people will always be there waiting to take advantage.”

Jemma nodded involuntarily. It was a harsh reality that she had seen and now experienced herself. Even people she thought she could trust would take advantage if given the opportunity. It was a truly unfair way of the world that seemed to be acceptable in the corporate environment. What she wouldn’t give for a nice, quiet academic lab where all she’d need to fight for was funding and space.

Mr. Simmons patted her shoulder. “Besides, cleverness aside, I always thought you rather liked Milton. He’s just your type: impeccably honest and extremely dull.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, Jemma raised a brow. “That is only about half right.”

Her father snorted. “Well, he was also pressing his suit rather forcefully.” 

“What suit?” Jemma’s other brow joined it’s twin in disbelief. 

Mr. Simmons patted her hand. “Well, my dear, it appears the poor lad wants to marry you.”

Jemma grit her teeth. “And you encouraged this?”

“Of course not. I just wanted his cooperation with the acquisition. He just wanted my blessing to sink or swim.”

She had to fight to keep her temper from flaring. Not only was that a topic that Milton had never broached with her, but his recent actions had well and truly burned that bridge away, even if she might have considered it before. “Really? Well,” she huffed, “if you wanted his portion of the tech all that much, you should marry him. I certainly will not.”

Her father gave a humoring smile at her not so quiet rebellion, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I must go, my dear. We are meeting up with the rest of the executives that are due to arrive at Heathrow presently. If you'd like, you are more than welcome to come with me and explain your marvelous invention to the Roxxon executive team tomorrow night. You’ll get full credit. We are scheduled to do a special tour through the convention center; the exhibit is set to remain open late into the evening for all the industry representatives.”

“I’m afraid I’ll be too busy considering my other options, Dad,” Jemma smirked and turned away on her heel. 

* * *

Mr. Simmons grinned, positioned right in front of the prototype battery on display in the exhibition hall. “From what I understood of my discussions with Mr. Taylor, the finished product will be stackable with the potential to power larger vehicles at less than half the size of current batteries.” 

“I understand that the finalized electrolyte formulae is still under development,” Garrett smirked, delighted when Mr. Simmons’ face fell slightly. 

Mr. Simmons knew that Garrett was a shark, thriving when he smelled blood in the water. He would pounce on any perceived weaknesses that were not corrected immediately. “There was a slight hiccup in the transition from the prior company ownership with Iliad Technologies, but Mr. Taylor is sitting down with R&D to complete it this evening.”

“We have much to thank your daughter for. We are beyond grateful to her for bringing this to your attention.” Malick spoke softly, focusing his rapt attention on their new technical asset. “If it does even half of what you say, we’ll be able to make quite a lot of headway in our mission with this.”

“So,” Garrett prodded. “How soon before this little beauty is shuttled back into Roxxon hands? I’d love to let my scientific team get their hands on it to see how we can improve it.”

Mr. Simmons grew cagey. “We will have it back in our London offices soon enough, once the exhibition is completed. You’ll have to bring your team here to review it in the interim.”

* * *

Will Daniels trailed at the back of the Roxxon delegation, please to enjoy the anonymity of the crowds. The entire evening was filled with crowds, tedious conversation, and a slow aimless shuffle--all of which he struggled to enjoy. He’d much rather be accomplishing things; it was a far more productive use of his limited vacation time. He was mostly out of his usual element, even though he understood far too well the financial boon that would come from having the right pieces in place.

As the delegation walked, he listened intently to the conversation around him, unable to find an immediate avenue to capture his attention. There _was_ at least one useful piece of information he had managed to gather.

He broke away at the earliest opportunity. His knowledge was limited on some of the necessary specifications, but it would be worth the effort to set a plan in motion before getting a decent night’s sleep.

“Back to the hotel, please,” he said as he got in a taxi.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels.”

Will Daniels leaned back into the seat before digging out the tape recorder to be sent to his personal secretary. “Ms. Price, type this up immediately then send it to all parties concerned. Cancel all pending travel arrangements and business meetings. Remaining in London on urgent business regarding technical improvements of the mission. Further instructions will be issued as needed. Hire a private investigator to do a run-down on Jonathan Simmons: all members of his family, his dealings with Roxxon Industries... and particularly the prototype battery, which is now on exhibit at the Olympia. Have all this information at my hotel first thing in the morning. This is urgent, repeat, urgent.” He picked up the recorder again, as an afterthought. “And confidential!”

* * *

Jemma hunched over her desk, working out her new coding system. Perhaps she might do a cipher shift, but instead filter her data through not just one but two layers of shifting?

She sighed, sinking back into the chair, pressing her fingertips to her temples. As her memory prompted, she tried to force her recall on all details recorded in her original book of notes.

She would need to do...something. Milton would not be able to re-create the totality of their work, although the Roxxon Research and Development staff would certainly be more competent given enough time and resources. She still had to decide if it would be possible to get inside the building and ensure the construction would fail so she could make sure the prototype didn't get buried in the private sector with patents and bureaucracy. It needed to be available to the public, not a morally dubious company like Roxxon. But she’d also need to speak with an attorney about how to ensure she didn't bring the weight of the Roxxon’s legal resources down on her own head.

Knowing it was now too late in the evening to get any proper work done, Jemma decided to curl up on her bed with the latest copy of the Hitchcock mystery magazine. She hoped for inspiration to strike with ideas for her new code. Going up against Roxxon or her father wasn’t a viable option, but she could certainly ensure she would not be duped again.

Her father might have been well intentioned in acquiring her company or he just might have done so out of misplaced loyalty to his longtime employer. She couldn’t even entirely be sure whether he had taken her book of notes, or if someone else had been hired to do the dirty work. But he had betrayed her trust and she would not allow him the opportunity again. She had already spoken to Thomas, their Butler, about re-keying all of her locks.

Jarred from focus by a noise downstairs, her eyes popped open comically over the page.

* * *

Downstairs in the library, Leo Fitz held the flashlight with his teeth as he combed through the documents on the desk, looking for any evidence of the prototype specs. The library looked clean. There were hardly any stray papers lying about that would even give a hint that the man in question possessed details about the tech that had his employer so concerned. If the man was actually a scientist, he was far neater than Fitz ever had been. He scratched at his day old scruff. Of course, it was also possible that the cleaning staff was ruthlessly efficient.

He spun around, directing the light to the bookshelves. He could only hope that nothing was hidden in the rows of books around the periphery of the room. That would take far more time than he had before someone would inevitably come home. Behind him was an oil painting that would hopefully be hiding everything they would need. He moved it off the wall with as much care as he could manage in the near darkness.

He dug out a stethoscope from his kit, pressing it right against the door of the safe as he listened for the combination lock to catch. He grinned when the door popped open, flashing the light into the box before snagging the stack of paperwork inside.

Hunter really had no handle on the scientific information, and Bobbi confirmed that this type of work was really outside her fields of study. Chasing down the lead, Bobbi had already gone into the presenter’s office undercover, but had no luck finding this Milton Taylor before all hell broke loose. Roxxon was enacting a hostile takeover of the small company, actively confiscating whole boxes of data under guard and forcing everyone in the office to sign iron-clad confidentiality agreements, up to and including their current projects. The threatened penalties would ruin the career of anyone who dared defy them.. 

Bobbi decided to shift her focus to Roxxon instead, but came up with only one likely executive that might have details on the schematics they were charged with acquiring. Jonathan Simmons. Left with no other options, Fitz was dragged all the way back across the Channel and sent in to try and make sense of the science. 

Quite frankly, he was damned glad. The specs he had cracked from the safe were impressive, to say the least. He scratched at the stubble on his chin as his mind leapt at the possibilities. “Clever designs...”

Bobbi chimed in via the receiver in his ear. _“Did you find anything, Fitz?”_

Fitz held the flashlight to the sheet. “Some battery specs. There are some novel design aspects, but there is some coding along the side. It is a really brilliant way to guard the data. I can't get a full feel to replicate it.”

_“What details are you missing?”_

He had already been filing away some mental notes for possible improvements to the efficiency--and possibly also the casing--but it was a challenge without the full scope of detail. “Hmmm...The size is a bit unclear. The precise formula for the electrolytes being used...and--”

Certain he heard a noise from the hallway, Fitz froze, shutting off his flashlight as quickly as possible. He could hear Bobbi tapping at her mic. _“Fitz? Are you there?”_

His heart raced as he ducked down behind the desk.


	2. Chapter 2

Jemma crept down the staircase in her robe and nightie, with all the possible stealth and grace that she could manage in her current state. She was all but certain she had heard a noise. 

As a flashlight flickered under the library door, she gasped. Her eyes scoured the dark hallway to where her Father's antique dueling pistols, which had been in the family for generations, were pinned to the wall.

With a steadying breath, she pulled one down, palming it into her hand. She had no interest in learning to shoot, though her father had been adamant she have at least the few safety lessons as a girl. Yet her unsteady hands and the passage of time had sent those precious few hours right out of her mind.

The flashlight flickered again, but this time, she could just about make out a man's voice muttering. “Clever design...” Was that a touch of a brogue she heard?

Jemma frowned, tightening her grip on the gun. She kept all her designs in her room, and those that Roxxon had acquired should quite unfortunately be in their possession now. It seemed this man had come with the intention of theft, and with any luck would be entirely disinterested in any harm either to her or to any of the other valuables in the room. But if her father had taken any more of her design, then she had cause to drive this intruder away.

Summoning her courage, she edged forward, wincing as a floorboard creaked.

When the flashlight shut off entirely, she threw open the library door and turned on the overhead light in haste. Surely his eyes were not yet acclimated to the brighter light. She led forward with the gun, startled to meet cerulean blue eyes peering up from behind her father's desk.

Re-adjusting her hold and her stance, she took aim, trying desperately not to show that her hands were shaking like leaves. She wasn’t even sure that the bloody thing was loaded, so she’d have to bluff her way through this. “Don’t move. Put down that design schematic.”

He obeyed readily, his eyes dropping down to the weapon in her hands, darting lower briefly to where her nightie reached her mid-thigh. A blush was clear on his face when he pointedly flicked his gaze back up to meet her eyes. His hands rose and he walked carefully towards her. “Miss Simmons, please. I swear I mean you no harm.”

“It’s Doctor,” she said automatically, gripping the gun a bit more tightly. “So says the man who is lurking around my house in the dark. Stay where you are, if you please.”

He stood still, as Jemma moved towards the desk, paling. “Why did you pick that particular design?”

* * *

“It was just at the top of the pile.” Fitz shrugged, trying to tune out Bobbi’s anxious chirping in his ear, and trying his damnedest not to end up dead on the floor. He was sure if his eyes strayed south again that Miss—Doctor—Simmons would quite readily shoot him where he stood. He would do no good to anyone if he couldn’t weasel his way out of the situation. 

He cursed himself that he hadn’t thought to persuade Hunter to ferry him back to the office first, grab an EMP or two to cut the lights, and sneak out without putting himself at risk. Although, he had to admit, there was definitely more than a little appeal in having the lights on. 

“Look, Doctor Simmons.” Fitz placed the schematics down on the desk, his fingertips barely grazing the paper. “Don’t call the police. Give me another chance. This isn't what it looks like. You see, I was only taking the one design and you have so many. You probably wouldn’t have even missed it, even as brilliant as it is. It has such potential to do good...good it can't do locked in this safe or in the hands of Roxxon.”

She looked conflicted, perhaps absurdly pleased and stymied all at once. The half smile made her look far younger than he initially thought, perhaps even about his age.

 _“Fitz,”_ Hunter bellowed in his ear. _“Mate, you’ve got to give us some clue of what’s going on in there!”_

Fitz erred on the side of caution, backing towards the safe, his eyes never leaving hers or the gun. He spoke loud enough that he could only hope it would register on their end. “I’ll just put this back and it will be as if it never left the safe.”

The gun dropped a fraction of an inch. “You knew my father and the servants would be out. How?”

Fitz blinked before drawing up slightly. “It is my business to know things like that. Look,” he coaxed, daring to approach her by mere inches at a time. “I am terribly sorry to have frightened you. I understood you would be attending the industry gala with your father. Surely, a big event like that…” Fitz trailed off. “Anyways, you startled me too. So we’re even.”

Huffing, Doctor Simmons leveled the pistol higher. “Don’t be impudent.”

Fitz squinted, registering the surprisingly ancient make of the gun. “That thing isn’t loaded, is it?”

“Of course it is.” She looked affronted, then her eyes widened in newly realized fear. “Are you armed? Do you have a gun?”

“Of course not,” Fitz’s spoke hastily. He wasn’t sure whether or not he visibly winced when he heard Bobbi and Hunter both groan on their end of the line. He was able to make out Hunter say _“I told you so,”_ before Bobbi must have muted their end.

Doctor Simmons sighed, lowering the pistol just a bit, her fingers trembling against the trigger. “I’m going to let you go. I don’t know why, but—“

A loud bang startled them both. But Fitz only noticed the blood on his hand shortly before the rest of him hit the floor.

* * *

“What the hell just happened?” Hunter shouted upon hearing what must have been a gunshot.

Bobbi was trying desperately to keep a level head, and trying to convince herself that she hadn’t just heard a gunshot in the room with their key scientific asset. “I’m trying to figure that out, if you could keep quiet.”

Hunter began to pace as Bobbi listened intently on the line. She narrowed her eyes at him while silence reigned. Bobbi hated not knowing what was going on, hated the thought that her friend might be at risk. “Get ready for an extraction.”

Nodding solemnly but unable to entirely hide a hint of a grin, Hunter darted down the hall.

Bobbi shook her head in exasperation. He always preferred to be out in the field, and she’d do better focusing without him underfoot. She closed her eyes, focusing to hear as clearly as possible. There was some rustling in the background.

 _“I do wonder what you found so clever,”_ Bobbi heard a woman’s voice muse. It was a bit surprising as the girl must have been within a few feet of Fitz in order for the microphone to pick up on her voice. And the sound was surprisingly clear. _“People usually don’t, you know. It makes me wonder if you might actually be rather clever yourself.”_

* * *

Jemma sighed as she rustled through the rather robust first aid kit in her father’s study. The burglar had seen the bare bones schematics with her encoding, but there was no telling whether or not he had seen the translation effort clearly in her father’s handwriting on the next page. She would have to keep an eye on him to see if he knew anything more. Besides, she had shot the poor man.

He seemed to be just coming around as she finished prepping the desk with bandages and antiseptic. “What's that?” He pointed groggily.

Jemma showed him the bottle. “Iodine to sterilize the wound.”

The man frowned, surprisingly hesitant. “Will it hurt?”

Jemma rolled her eyes and bit her lip to keep from pointing out that it probably would hurt far less than being shot. Instead, she countered, “For a burglar, you're not very brave, are you?”

He appeared to zone out for a few seconds before responding in a bit of huff. “I'm a society burglar. I don't expect people to rush about shooting me.”

Jemma suppressed the temptation to roll her eyes again. “Take your hand away so I can put this stuff on.” When he didn’t move and still wasn’t entirely paying attention, she tugged his hand away, dabbing with the cotton ball held between a pair of tweezers.

His eyes were focused on hers, but he didn’t seem to have heard her words, apparently having a bit of difficulty breathing. Pressing her lips into a thin line, she set her mind and pressed the iodine into his wound. His eyes went immediately wide with shock.

“Ouch! That hurt.” He shouted at the fresh wave of pain.

Jemma blew out a puff of air in exasperation. “Don't be such a baby. It's only a flesh wound.”

He drew back in the chair, regarding her with suspicion. “Well, it happens to be my flesh.”

Rolling the bandage out to wrap around his exposed arm, she chided. “You have to expect some occupational hazards. You did break in here to steal, after all!”

He frowned. “Could we keep personalities out of this conversation?”

“Fine.”

He rubbed his shoulder absently, above the site of the wound--truly just a scratch. “A thing like this could keep me out of action for a week.”

“Well,” she said, as she clipped the bandage together. “Temporarily, I suppose you'll have to go straight.”

The pain was clear on his face, but he was watching with unveiled interest as she replaced the bits and bobs into the first aid kit. “Look, it's late and I'm tired, and I have to work in the morning.”

“You work?” He seemed genuinely -- and perhaps pleasantly -- surprised.

She was instantly defensive. “Some people do, you know.”

“All right. I'm going.” He paused just before the door, peering back at her a moment. Then, he winced dramatically and placed his good arm against the door frame to hold up his shaking limbs. “How am I to get home like this? I can't drive. I feel weak from shock and loss of blood. Dear heaven, I hope I’ll make it!”

Dr. Simmons bit her lip, considering. “I'll call you a taxi. And pay for it. Is that alright?”

“As far as I'm concerned, fine…” he said. Then seemed to think better of it. “But if the police found my car outside your house... it would mean questions, you know.” His eyes met hers and appeared surprisingly genuine, considering that he had been just caught in the act of stealing. “I'm really only thinking of you.”

“Thank you very much,” Jemma huffed, tugging her purse out of the hallway closet. “I'll drive you home then. Is that okay?”

“Fine, thank you.” Fitz nodded, pleased. “But...you don't happen to have a pain reliever, do you?”

Jemma rolled her eyes up to the vaulted foyer ceiling but not before grabbing a set of pills from the kit. “Here. _Now_ can we go?”

* * *

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Fitz practically cooed, brushing his fingers over the exterior of the E-type Jaguar. She’s engineered to do more than 150 miles per hour. Quite useful for getaways, that.”

Dr. Simmons slid into the driver’s seat and brushed her fingers over the wheel, secretly appreciating the car herself, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction. “The robbery business must be pretty good.”

Fitz grinned. He couldn’t recall the last time he was nearly at as much ease chatting with a woman, and couldn’t quite resist egging her on. “It’s stolen.”

She didn’t disappoint. “I can’t drive a stolen car.”

He bit his lip in amusement and shrugged. “Same principle. Four gears forward. One reverse.”

 _“Fitz,”_ Bobbi warned into his ear. _“Keep that up and she’s going to shoot you again. Hunter is clearly becoming a bad influence on you. We need to get the car away from the scene before her father arrives home and can tie it to us. If you don’t come back in safely, I will have to send Hunter out to retrieve you.”_

Fitz’s brows furrowed, a bit unsure how best to proceed.

Dr. Simmons’ fingers flew up to massage the tension from her temples. “This is crazy. You should be in jail, and I should be in bed.”

_“How is your wound, Fitz?”_

His brows popped open. With an overplayed groan, he moved his arm.

Dr. Simmons sighed, turning her head away as she adjusted the driver’s seat. “Where to?”

“The Ritz.”

Her jaw dropped. “The _what_?”

“The hotel Ritz in Picadilly--.”

She cut him off in a huff, peeling out of the drive. “I know where it is. You’re a very _chic_ burglar.”

Fitz smiled at the quip. She really was quick on her feet. Besides, that had to be the only time in his life he’d been called chic.

She slanted her eyes over at him. “Your arm seems much better.”

Fitz quickly grabbed an arm and half heartedly stifled a groan.

She rolled her eyes. “It’s the other arm.”

He turned his head, far too pleased that she didn’t miss a trick. “The infection is spreading.”

* * *

“We’re here safely. Thank you,” Fitz smiled at her, despite struggling to bring his good arm around to open the door. “If I can ever return the favor…”

Her brows winged up, tugging her coat more tightly around her still quite exposed legs. “That’s hardly likely, isn’t it? Now…How am I to get home?”

“See,” he whispered, as his eyes never left her face. “You never know when you might need a friend.”

The bellboy tugged at his cap. “Mr. Fitz. How can I assist you this evening?”

The burglar--Mr. Fitz apparently--turned his blue eyes onto the doorman with a bit more shock than she expected. 

She squinted at the bellboy herself. He looked oddly familiar, but the man fiddled again with his hat and shaded his eyes.

“Ah, yes. Mr...Hunter, was it? We will need a taxi.”

“Right away, sir.” The doorman bowed his head, before turning on his heel.

* * *

“Bobbi,” Hunter whispered over the line, as soon as he had put enough distance between them. He knew Fitz had been interacting with the Roxxon executive’s daughter, but with Bobbi hogging the headset, he hadn’t been able to put two and two together “Why didn’t you tell me Fitz was with the girl?”

 _“That’s her?”_ Bobbi hissed over the line. _“Our elusive scientist from the exhibition? There is no way we got that lucky so quickly.”_

“I’m as sure as I can be.” Hunter raised his arm to wave down a passing cab. “I couldn’t stick around in case she recognized me.”

_“Then we’ll need Fitz to act as the primary contact.”_

Hunter waved that cab on to the circle drive, where Fitz and the girl stood waiting. “You think he can manage it?”

 _“I think,”_ Bobbi half-purred, _“that Fitz will be greatly intrigued that this girl was substantially involved in creating those designs.”_

* * *

“There,” Fitz smiled back at Dr. Simmons. “The taxi shouldn’t be but a moment. I suppose I gave myself away there, but it couldn’t be helped. You ought to be able to get back home without issue.”

She tilted her head, watching him with some interest, probably just to fill the time. 

“Besides, I have a funny feeling, believe me, it's rare in my profession... that you're completely trustworthy.” Fitz met her eyes, trying not to shuffle awkwardly. A feat that actually became harder when Bobbi’s voice cut through the silence. 

_“Fitz?”_ Bobbi prodded. _“Just one more thing. Did you happen to clean up the scene before you were injured?”_

“Are you still with me, Mr. Fitz?”

He shook himself, trying to establish clear focus, and with a start realized just how much evidence he potentially had left that could link him to the break in: blood, fibers from his shirt, not to even consider the fingerprints. “Just one more tiny favor…”

She clearly marked him taking inventory of his hands and shirt, her arms crossing over her chest. “Are you just now realizing what a mess you left back in my library?”

Fitz dropped his jaw defensively. “I had to pull off the gloves to crack open the safe. Then, I was so engrossed in the design details that I may have left fingerprints on the safe and the spec sheet.”

Dr. Simmons tapped her fingers against her arm. “So?”

“So, it would be helpful if you would give the frame of the safe a little wipe with a clean cloth. If it’s not too much trouble. The blueprint too, if you can.” 

“Certainly. Anything else? You wouldn’t like a forged passport or some counterfeit money or…” If it weren’t for the tone of her voice, he might mistake her words for acceptance of his otherwise ludicrous request, but there was no mistaking the sheer exasperation in her eyes. “You’re mad, utterly mad. I suppose you want to kiss me goodnight, too.”

He made the mistake of glancing down at her lips, his tongue wet his suddenly dry lips before he started babbling and clinging to whatever train of thought had yet to abandon him entirely. “I don’t usually, not on the first acquaintance…”

She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Well there. I've saved you the trouble. Now don't you have some nefarious plot to go scheme?"

Blinking, he drew back as the sound of the taxi approached. As simple a gesture as it was, it affected him more than he would care to admit. After a moment, he recovered his voice and readied a few pounds from his billfold for the driver. “Here is your ride, Dr. Simmons.”

Her amber colored eyes sparkled in the darkness, as she stepped into the car. “Mind that arm.”

He nodded. “Get home safe. And sleep well.”

* * *

When Mr. Simmons arrived home in the early hours of the morning, Jemma was pacing and fidgeting in the library, a bit dazed and only half minding the book in her hands. The binding was already in shambles.

“Jemma, my dear!” He dropped a kiss onto her forehead, very nearly dancing his way over to where his good bottle of scotch was stashed away with a glass at the ready. “Everyone was entirely wowed by your work. Truly it was a tremendous success. My only regret is that you weren’t there to see it.”

Laying the book aside, she took a steadying breath and poured herself a glass of scotch too, taking a sip to calm her nerves. “I want to--”

“You should have seen the looks on our competitor’s faces. Why we were practically the center of the whole attraction.” He had a truly self satisfied grin, as he tipped back a first sip.

Jemma rolled her eyes. “Dad, I caught a burglar.”

“Of course you did. But you must promise me to go there and see for yourself.” He stopped short, finally and more clearly registering her words. “A burglar? What? Here in this house? Good Lord. Here, take a sip of this and just tell me all about it.”

“It was pitch dark and there he was. Medium height, blue eyes, slim, quite good-looking, if a bit pasty... in a brutal, mean way. Truly, Dad, he was terrible. Arrogant, ruthless, no sense of guilt or shame... or anything.”

“So you discussed all that, did you?”

“That was later, when I was driving him home.”

Her father’s eyes bulged rather comically.

“I had to, Dad! I shot him in the arm with your old pistol...but it was an accident, I think…”

“My darling... supposing you start all over again and tell me what happened in detail.”

“I caught him in the act of stealing. I kept him back with the pistol... and I was about to ring the police until I saw what he was stealing: the specs for my prototype battery.”

“What?” Her father looked genuinely shocked.

“And I didn't know what to do. I was afraid if he was arrested it might mean publicity or the design being confiscated. While I’m not sure why my designs were in your safe,” she paused, narrowing her eyes for emphasis, “those designs would do neither of us any good in the hands of the police.”

He looked more confused than the situation warranted and was still a bit dazed when he finally answered. “Of course! A police investigation might have been challenging considering that we only have the one blueprint and you were adamant it stay out of Roxxon’s hands, isn’t that right pet?”

Jemma narrowed her eyes skeptically. “That's what I thought. So I let him go.”

“Good!”

She tilted her head, clearly a bit anxious. “Good? Well you've come around to my way of thinking rather fast. What have you got planned, Dad?"

"Oh nothing, darling. Just need to be sure my daughter gets credit where credit is due."

"Really?" She asked, watching him intently.

“Of course.” Mr. Simmons smiled, but was distinctly distracted. Who would have sent someone in to steal from him directly? Or--more importantly--who would know enough to send someone in? He would need to check with his security team in the morning. “Maybe he was a first time offender.”

“If you'd have seen how he was carrying on when I was dressing his wound.” She chuckled lightly at the memory. “You’d have thought he’d never have been injured before in his life.”

Her father raised a suspicious eyebrow, now watching her quite intently.

“Well, don’t look at me like that.” Jemma shuffled uncomfortably. “I had to take care of it or he might have got an infection, and then where would we be? The whole thing was too awful, Dad.”

He brushed a kiss to her forehead, before nudging her to the door. “You should head off to bed, if you think you can sleep.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, Jemma. Have a good rest.”

She took another bracing sip of the scotch and pressed a quick kiss to his weathered cheek, before she started wiping down the safe and the desk.

He watched her, startled. What on earth was she doing? “Jemma?”

She turned back to him. 

He looked worried, as if he just realized a new problem as he took in her night attire. “This clever ruffian with blue eyes...he didn't... _bother_ you in any way, did he?”

She still looked a bit dazed for just a moment, before she grabbed a cloth and started methodically cleaning all the surfaces in sight.

“Well, did he?”

“He was the perfect gentleman.” She smiled at him, returning the dry rag to the laundry bin in the hall closet.

He stared, mostly contented as she continued down the hall and up the stairs. He probably would have felt a good deal better if he wasn’t so sure she’d muttered the words “Unfortunately.”


	3. Chapter 3

Only a few days had passed since her invention was taken from her. Jemma had returned to work earlier today, only to be bombarded and unable to focus due to the whorl of rumors and buzz. By noon, the new HR assistant came around, politely but firmly informing each worker of the pending buyout by Roxxon and reminding each of the terms of their confidentiality agreements and how that would change as the acquisition progressed. Jemma must have been a bit dazed, but presented her work progress update as fully as she could until the poor HR assistant got that glazed look that so many people often did.

By the end of the day, Jemma couldn’t quite quash her curiosity any longer. She could pop in to the exhibits, checking not only her work, but also the other fascinating set of exhibits that she was forced to gloss over the last time.

But there was definitely far more of a crowd than had been wandering about during her last visit. She could hardly take a step without bumping into someone, so it was hardly a surprise when she did bump into someone stepping back from an exhibit a short while later. “Excuse me,” she murmured out of habit, shocked instead when a familiar shade of blue eyes met hers.

“Good morning, Dr. Simmons.” Mr. Fitz looked surprised -- pleasantly so -- to see her, before he blushed and turned back to the exhibit they both stood beside. “We meet only under the most scientific of circumstances.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “I am just here to take in the exhibits. This series isn’t here for that much longer, and work allowed me a longer lunch today.”

“The construction is rather remarkable,” he murmured appreciatively, his appraising eyes teasing apart the details through the glass case. 

“You wouldn't dare,” Jemma bit off, paying him far more mind than the exhibits which, by all rights, should be the more appealing.

“Not to worry, I'm off duty.” He smirked, but his blue eyes had shifted their laser-like focus from the exhibit to her.

She tried to remind herself that he was a threat, for all that his fresh suit and clean cut appearance made that seem unlikely. She ought to be focusing on the exhibits, and not on his impossibly blue eyes.

She was somewhat rudely interrupted by a stout man, whose focus trained down at her attendee lanyard, before offering his hand in greeting. “Miss Simmons, a pleasure to have you here. Your father said we might see you today if you were feeling better.”

“Ah. You must be Mr. Koenig, the Director of the Olympia. This is Mr. Fitz.” She slanted her gaze at her burgling companion suspiciously. Far better for the man to know Mr. Fitz’s name...just in case he wasn’t quite as off duty as he claimed. 

Mr. Koenig raised his brows, but extended his hand. “A friend of yours, Miss Simmons?”

Fitz’s eyes narrowed at Mr. Koenig. “ _Dr._ Simmons and I are old friends.”

Jemma smiled genuinely. Mr. Fitz truly seemed to be the only one who so pointedly remembered her hard earned title.

“We used to shoot together,” Fitz said dryly. 

She shot him an annoyed glare. He certainly seemed bent on ruining her good graces. Fitz pressed on, focusing instead back to Mr. Koenig. “But this is an excellent exhibition. So many avenues of technological advancement -- All so valuable!”

“Yes. And observe, please, the security precautions... protecting the prototype.” Koenig watched with unrestrained glee, as Mr. Fitz hovered precariously close to the casing. “Are you interested in science and technology, Mr. Fitz?”

“Indeed I am.” He smiled. “And in security.”

“Splendid. Let me show you the extra precautions we have around the Roxxon prototype, please. You seem to be the sort of man who would really appreciate the extra measures we have taken..”

“Excuse me,” Jemma murmured, anxious to see a few of the other exhibits as soon as possible. The last thing Mr. Fitz needed to see was what the extended security details entailed given how he had spent his evenings.

Both men were far too focused to notice her. “You see those tiny blue beams. They are infrared circuits,” Koenig went on.

Jemma tugged at Mr. Fitz’s jacket sleeve. “I have to go.”

“Go on,” he smiled with a nod, rifling through his breast pocket for a pair of glasses and sliding them onto his face with practiced ease. “I find it fascinating.”

Once she got ahold of herself, Jemma rolled her eyes and felt her blood pressure spike. Poor Mr. Koenig was playing right into his hand. Crossing her arms over her chest, she frowned at the whole scene, trying to stay focused on her entirely justified concerns for poor Mr. Koenig. She was certainly not focusing on how the glasses had only served to frame Mr. Fitz’s face rather well. 

She bit her lip; she tried -- rather desperately -- not to think about how the dark frames of the glasses set off his brilliant blue eyes, only serving to highlight their color. Of course, thinking about how much she should not be doing that only made her more hyper aware when he turned his blue eyes questioningly back to her, instead falling into them headlong. Jemma felt herself blushing deeply, against the rush of blood from her now all too audible racing heart. If she wasn’t really fooling herself as to how much Mr. Fitz appealed to her, she had no idea how anyone else might actually be fooled--least of all Mr. Fitz. She tapped her toe, forcing her focus away for the sake of her own sanity and blood pressure. 

“Be careful not to touch,” Mr. Koenig chided. “Because those beams create a circuit around the prototype... and anything that breaks the circuit, instant alarm! Just imagine the havoc and chaos that would wreak in this crowd.”

“Bravo!” Mr. Fitz praised with a bright smile.

“Thank you... It's the Electric Eye Detection and Alarm System. We call it the E.D.A.S.”

“Very clever,” Jemma put in, trying again to tug Fitz away.

“I’m not sure. Doesn’t quite have the right...ring to it,” Fitz trailed off, surprisingly deep in thought over the acronym.

“Really,” Jemma rolled her eyes before plastering a smile on for Mr. Koenig. “That name is rather nice.”

Koenig beamed. “Now, I know the question you're going to ask: ‘What if a burglar got to it and turned off the alarm?’”

Jemma quickly responded, “No. The thought never entered my mind.” 

Oddly enough, Mr. Fitz had answered almost at the same time. “Funny, I was going to ask that very thing.” 

“Good question.” Koenig beamed, far too pleased. “The answer is, he cannot. You see, it operates like the door to a vault, and only two of our most trusted guards... and myself of course, know the combination. Here. Let me show you…”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Koenig.” Jemma broke in. “I’m afraid I have an appointment.”

“Oh.” Koenig’s face fell. No one had ever taken this level of interest into his work and he rather enjoyed showing his efforts off. “Well. Goodbye, then.”

Mr. Fitz smiled at her, before sliding the glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Go along without me, Mr. Koenig's work is quite fascinating. I think I can spare a few more minutes to chat."

“Oh. But weren’t you going to come with me, Mr. Fitz?” Jemma said sweetly as she leaned into his arm and batted her eyelashes. "I so wanted to hear your opinion on the piece Dr. Pym submitted."

“All right. If you insist.”

“Bye-bye.” Koenig waved, clearly disappointed, before turning back towards to admire his pride and joy. 

Meanwhile, Jemma lead Fitz back towards the exit, clinging to his good arm a bit tighter than was strictly necessary. When they finally came to a stop at the lobby beside the exit doors, she rounded on him. “Now go away or I'll call a policeman.”

“Quite capricious, aren’t you?” He watched her in rapt fascination, trying not to focus on just how aware he was of where his arm was entwined with hers. “Do you always blow hot and cold like this?” 

Jemma glared daggers back at him before turning back to the exhibition. 

“Listen.” He frowned, digging into his pockets for some elusive object. “Now don't go away. I have something very important to say to you.”

But when he looked back up, she was already gone. 

* * *

“Well, finally!” Hunter chided as Fitz appeared in the cozy back office he shared with Bobbi and four other agents. A bit too cozy if he was honest (and really, when was he not)?

“Sorry,” Fitz mumbled, scratching at the patch of scruff on his chin. He winced when he realized he’d used his injured arm. “I'm only a part-time burglar, and I'm still recovering. I was up late trying to recreate the designs while it was still fairly fresh in my memory.”

“How is that going?” Neither heard Bobbi join them, but Hunter couldn’t help but smile in response to the look on her face. There was no possible way that Fitz wasn’t already a jumbled mess after he and the girl were busy making doe eyes at each other that night. 

“Not all that well.” Fitz sighed. “I was making some progress with the design, but not with the coded segment. I thought I might go to the exhibition myself and look at the prototype model on display. I just didn’t expect to meet her there.”

“Her?” Bobbi’s head tilted just so, as she sprung the trap. “You mean, Dr. Simmons.”

Caught up in his own thoughts, Fitz nodded. “Yeah. Do you think we should bring her in under some capacity? If her father’s company designed the technology, then she might have some insight, especially as she did say she was a doctor...”

Bobbi smiled softly, her eyes drifting over to meet Hunter’s. He had worked with her often enough to know she was not yet willing to show her whole hand. “Fitz, we’re reasonably sure that she was the one that designed it.”

“Oh.” He murmured, undisguised admiration plain on his face. "Really?"

“Really. She would be a boon, if we could be certain of where her loyalties lie.” 

Fitz’s face fell, and Hunter couldn’t help but feel for him. Dr. Simmons had certainly appeared to be genuine to him. But confirming that would prove tricky at best.

Bobbi set a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re still the most uniquely positioned to gather this information, even if it is outside of your normal area of expertise.”

“And as clever as she is, she’s more likely to respond well to your own cleverness,” Hunter added. 

Bobbi was pointedly silent then, fixing Fitz with a questioning glance as he grew introspective. 

“She hasn’t exactly been forthcoming,” he said with a shrug.

Bobbi folded her arms over her chest, skeptical. “Women are frequently underestimated. And for all she knows right now, you’re just some burglar trying to steal her designs.”

Fitz had his arms crossed. “She couldn’t get away from me fast enough this afternoon.”

“That’s surprising.”

“Hunter,” Bobbi warned.

Shrugging, Hunter grew openly defiant. “It isn’t like she really needed to give you a kiss on the cheek before she got into the cab. I might not have heard the conversation, but it seems an odd move for someone trying to head home in a hurry.” 

Frowning, Bobbi decided to go with that line of questioning. “Why _did_ she decide to do that anyways? I could hear you, but her response was a bit muffled.”

Fitz smirked at Bobbi. “She didn’t take too kindly to the suggestion that she do the cleanup to fix my misstep She offered a whole other set of unreasonable things, which apart from the kiss, were quite illegal.”

Bobbi lips quirked slightly upwards. “So _she_ mentioned the kiss?”

Fitz nodded.

“And she initiated it?”

When Fitz nodded again, Bobbi smirked. “I don’t really think you’ll have an issue getting her cooperation.”

* * *

Jemma let her hands twist anxiously as she wove methodically through the crowds from exhibit to exhibit without the spectre of Mr. Fitz making her concerned for poor Mr. Koenig’s security measures. 

She smiled pleasantly, pleased to see at least a few fellow female scientists were listed among the collaborators on some of the other displays. But how did all these others manage to present their own work without all of that political nonsense and acquisitions coming into play?

She just wanted to go through the exhibits in relative peace and learn about their discoveries and breakthroughs. Instead, all this nonsense and anxiety keep sneaking into her thoughts.

“Oof!”

“Oh!” Jemma backed up apologetically. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t seen you there.”

“It is no problem, really.” The man smiled rather pleasantly for someone she had just bumped into. He extended his hand to her for a handshake, his American accent clearly audible. “Will Daniels.”

Blinking, she accepted his hand with a polite smile. “Jemma Simmons.”

* * *

Jemma breezed into the front hall wearing one of the few professional dresses in her collection, a black number with white ribbon trim. She dashed past her Father on her way to the coat closet that contained her purse. ”Hello, Dad.”

“Good evening, Jemma.” He acknowledged with a pleasant smile. “Thomas tells me you're to dine out this evening.”

“Yes,” Jemma answered while rifling through the closet. “With an American I met in the Exhibition hall this afternoon. Apparently, he works for the American Space program. It sounds fascinating. I can only imagine what sort of technology they might have the opportunity -- and the financing -- to work with. He offered to discuss some of the unclassified details over dinner.”

Her father’s eyebrow rose swiftly as she exited the closet, white purse in hand. “Well, that might be the basis of an enduring friendship.”

Jemma’s eyes narrowed. When she met the man a short while after she had directed Mr. Fitz out of the museum doors, she was more interested in the potential for intellectual conversation and -- to be perfectly frank -- possible career opportunities. It was beginning to look like her options in England were rapidly being taken away from her. NASA definitely had a fair number of female scientists, so surely she wouldn’t have to deal with quite the same level of misogyny and outright theft as she had already in her short career.

The chime of bells was shockingly well timed. “And there he is. Right on the button.”

Mr. Simmons crept over to the window, peeking through the heavy velvet curtains in the dining room. “An enormous Cadillac. Does that sound right?” 

Jemma smoothed back her hair, watching her father’s antics in the mirror. “I suppose. I never saw his car.”

“Jemma,” he squinted out the window. “What's this chap’s name?”

“Will Daniels, I believe it was.”

He pursed his lips, as if a suspicion had suddenly been confirmed. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I guess I might have mis-heard. It could have been Daniel Williams,” she answered automatically before she suspected an issue. “Do _you_ know him?”

“No, but I'd very much like to meet him.” He closed the curtain with an air of finality. “He’s one of the flight engineers at NASA and would very much benefit from a closer relationship with Roxxon. I'll go and keep him company.”

Jemma paled, turning suddenly. She tried to fight off the vague sense of unease. “He didn't say a word about his job with NASA entailed.”

“Didn't he tell you that he and his purchaser arranged an exclusive fuel contract with Roxxon for the next year?” Her father rubbed his hands together greedily. “Even got the choice to pick up additional option years should all go well.”

“Oh, no!” she groaned, pressing her fingers to soothe the pain now pulsing at her temples.

“My dear?” He tutted loudly. “Surely, you are not implying our fuel supplies are in any way inferior?” 

“Dad,” her voice wavered slightly. “He didn’t even react to my last name when we were introduced and he hardly mentioned Roxxon. He even said that he was ‘Not very sciencey.’ What sort of self-respecting scientist would claim that?”

“He must be maneuvering for some sort of improved arrangement,” her father mused, suddenly in a far more congenial mood. “I find that rather intriguing. I think I'll go and meet him.”

* * *

“A lovely dinner. Marvelous wine.” Jemma smiled politely. In truth, even the wine was actually a bit more bitter than she preferred, but rudeness -- or the perception of it -- wouldn’t help her cause. Spitting it back out just wouldn’t do. “How did you know how to choose it?”

Mr. Daniels, or Will, as he kept insisting, beamed and took another sip from his glass. “I have a friend who owns a vineyard. He sneaks a bottle or two into work from time to time to celebrate meeting mission milestones.”

“Well, that sounds fun!”

“You know, usually I have trouble talking with girls...but with you, Miss Simmons, it's as though you were a member of the development team.”

“That's very nice of you, Mr. Daniels.” Jemma half-smiled, not quite able to mask her growing concern at his intentions. “But I wish I didn't have this feeling that there's a subject you're trying to avoid.”

The man at least had the decency to look slightly contrite.

Jemma prompted, wincing slightly. “There is something, isn't there?”

“Yes. I hate to say this. But you see, it has to do with your father... and the battery prototype on display.”

She nodded, willing him to continue. At least he had owned up to the connection to her father, which allayed some of her more pressing concerns, but his vague reply wasn’t entirely re-assuring. On the other hand, his interest in her battery was making her very curious. The fact that NASA might be interested in her design specifically was doing wonders for her ego. “Yes?”

“You see... Damn it, this is hard for me to say.”

The headwaiter loomed overhead. “Mr. Will Daniels?”

“Yes.”

“You have a long-distance call, Mr. Daniels. United States. Texas.”

“How the devil did they track me down here?” Will grumbled, balling up his napkin into his now empty seat, standing to follow the waiter back near the coat room. “ Please excuse me. I'll try to cut it short. “

* * *

Dr. Simmons sniffed at the still offensive glass of wine to bide the time until her dinner guest returned. She jumped at the noise when someone slid in across from her. She had not expected the company. “Oh, no!”

“That’s not a very cordial greeting, Dr. Simmons.” Mr. Fitz smirked, fiddling with the napkin on the chair beside him. He had snagged a menu from a nearby table setting it down beside him as he settled into the seat. “I went to considerable trouble to arrange these few precious moments alone.”

“Please,” she bit her lip anxiously. As much as a nuisance as Mr. Fitz seemed insistent enough to be, Jemma was still not certain of Mr. Williams’ --or was it Mr. Daniels? -- intentions. That had to be her priority right now. “You really do need to leave. Now.” 

His eyes danced over the top of the menu. “It's National Crime Prevention Week. Take a Burglar to Dinner.”

Pressing her lips into a thin line, she sighed. If politeness didn’t work, she’d have to resort to threats. There simply wasn’t time for his nonsense right now. “My escort has a very ugly temper. Now go and call off that fake telephone call,” she hissed, as quiet as she could manage. 

He frowned. As much as he wanted to continue their delightful banter, he only had a few precious minutes to talk with her. “There really is something I must tell you.”

“Ugh,” she groaned aloud, pressing her fingernails into the tablecloth. Didn’t he understand that this wasn’t exactly the best time? Besides, Mr. Fitz was at least a few inches and pounds shorter than her guest, and men always seemed to be inclined to odd fits of jealousy over that sort of thing. “How I'd like to take another shot at you!”

“It's actually important!” he grabbed her hand, his eyes pleading.

* * *

“Thank you for accepting the charges. Please hold the line, Sir.” Bobbi intoned a little mechanically, before passing the phone over to Hunter. She had spent more than a little time around telephone operators, hearing them fall into this mode with the less patient of customers. This Mr. Daniels clearly was distressed by the interruption.

“Mr. Daniels.” Hunter grinned, twisting the phone cord around his pointer finger as a thick twang bled into his voice. “I’m afraid we have a bid of bad news for you this afternoon.”

Bobbi just rolled her eyes. She hadn’t the heart to tell him that his Texan accent bordered on atrocious. But he was so adamant about setting poor Fitz up with their best lead, that he was truly throwing himself into the role. He’d even called in a favor with an old contact in Texas to pull this all off.

“There is an alarm sounding in your house.” Hunter chuckled silently, as the other man definitely reacted on the other end of the line. 

* * *

Dr. Simmons took a deep breath, staring back at him as evenly as she could before removing her hand from his, pointedly breaking the physical contact. “You need to leave this table, Mr. Fitz. And this restaurant.” 

He could only hope that he didn’t appear as wounded as he felt. “I’ll go. Just tell me where and when we can meet.”

Her eyes could hardly tear away from him quickly enough. She was clearly looking for her other dinner companion. At least it meant that she couldn’t see the disappointment on his face. He was glad that neither Bobbi or Hunter could see his utter failure at schooling his own features either. They were both so insistent, but he just was not cut out for the espionage business.

“You choose,” she whispered, more harshly than necessary. “And make it fast!”

Fitz frowned at the flurry of activity over by the coat room. He inhaled, turning towards the door so his face would be masked. “Meet me at the hotel. Remember: Fitz. Room 136, the Ritz. It's urgent. The Ritz!”

Jemma expelled a breath of relief as Mr. Fitz exited just barely in time. She plastered on a patently false, bright smile as her dinner companion re-assumed his seat.

“Now, where were we?” He stabbed a fork into a large bit of meat before shovelling it into his mouth with all the table manners of one living in the wild for far too long. 

“We were with my father and his business connections,” she reminded.

“Oh, yes.” He paused, dabbing a bit of sauce from his mouth and watching her warily. “I hate to have to tell you this, Miss Simmons. I arranged our meeting.”

She feigned surprise. “But why?”

The words practically spilled from his lips, likely due to his own feelings of guilt. “It's this ridiculous project at work. It devours every free bit of my time. From the minute I first laid eyes on it, I was certain that it was a answer to my problem.”

“I’m sorry,” Jemma shook her head. “Laid eyes on what?”

“The battery prototype, of course. I saw it last night. It haunted me. I can't think of anything else. I haven't slept a wink all night. Today, when I learned your father wouldn't sell it... I started pulling strings to meet you... hoping somehow to use you to get to that prototype. Well, that's it.”

Jemma allowed her smile to grow wider to mask her growing irritation. At least he showed no indication that he suspected she was the true genius behind the prototype. He clearly thought she had no involvement at all. While he really was in a rather pitiful circumstance, he was under the rather mistaken assumption that manipulating the situation for his own benefit would suffice. But two could play at that game. This man’s contacts at NASA might be a useful negotiating tool to bring her Dad around to her way of thinking. Failing that, the employment or consulting opportunities might at least be a satisfying alternative to her looming employment with Roxxon. “I'm sorry you can’t have the battery, as I’m reasonably sure that Roxxon will not offer it up for sale. Believe me, if it were mine to just give away, it would be on your doorstep in the morning.”

“No! Don't say things like that,” he groused. “I dare not hope.”

Jemma smiled, hoping to appear magnanimous and tamping down her urge to roll her eyes at his dramatic nature. She needed his good graces in order to gain his backing and a better deal with her father. “I suppose it would only be good form to forget all this and pretend we met under more coincidental circumstances.”

Smiling with obvious relief, he extended a hand with a good deal more gallantry than she would have expected given his poor table manners. “I don’t suppose you would care to dance?”

Jemma let him sweat for a moment. It would only be polite to accept, considering she would certainly need his pull with NASA. Besides, it had been far too long since she had gone dancing, even if she would rather spend the time with, say, Mr. Fitz, for example. He might be a bit pushy and rude, but at least he hadn’t continued to lie to her or use her -- and at least he could bother to remember her hard earned title.

Affixing a somewhat strained smile to her face, she tilted her head. The sooner she danced, the sooner this evening would be over. “Dancing would be lovely.” 

* * *

Her father devoured his breakfast while perusing the paper. “Good morning, my dear. Shall I call for Thomas to have another plate set for you?”

Jemma pressed a kiss to his fresh shaven cheek. “No, thank you. I'm late. I just have to tell you about Mr. Daniels. Everything's fine, but he did maneuver to meet me in order to get an introduction to you. NASA is definitely interested in the battery prototype.”

Her father arched a brow. “Interesting. But I truly doubt the other executives would buy into that sale. Far too much potential profit even outside the high paying government market, not to mention a few highly classified opportunities that the American office has on the radar. You kept the details under wraps, I’m sure?”

“Of course. I do understand how confidentiality is supposed to work.” Jemma rolled her eyes. Money wasn’t everything, although her father had clearly spent far too long within the Roxxon echo chamber to be convinced otherwise. Besides, hadn’t her father specifically mentioned heading to the stars as a positive incentive? At least this was a potential usage she could approve of.

He finished the last bite of sausage, before continuing. “They especially won’t agree to the sale once we successfully conduct the trials in a few days.”

Jemma darted her gaze at him. It simply wasn’t possible that anyone had enough time to go through her notes properly for the proper chemical solution. It would take a while at least just to translate her notes, even if her father actually had handed her designs over. “Trials already?”

“A necessary evil,” he assured, waving his hand flippantly. “Part of the exhibition includes a top prize of a one hundred thousand pound research grant to the scientist and the firm involved. Each competing display will be demonstrated in the auditorium with a brief explanation of the ramifications of the success. The gathered audience of industry scientists will vote to select the winner.”

Jemma’s fingernails dug into the table, fighting the wave of nausea that churned her stomach. She couldn’t have eaten now, even if she had the time. “Are the trials really even necessary?”

“Yes, my dear.” He backed his chair up and walked towards her, as if finally noticing the anxiety that plagued her. She only hoped he didn’t notice her wince when he patted a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you worked everything out to perfection. You always do. Besides, Roxxon’s insurance coverage requires confirmation of the functional unit to bring the million dollar protection coverage into force. Gideon Malick is sending in one of his adjusters in personally to monitor the technical examination to confirm the device's function and enact the policy against theft, loss, and damages.”

Her mouth was so dry she hardly even managed to croak as she tried to process the myriad of questions now jumbled in her head.

“A million dollars?”

“Yes,” he grinned, looking far too pleased with himself. “An industry standard apparently. Since Roxxon’s main offices are in the United States, the policies all use the local denominations there.”

“Dad,” she spoke barely above a whisper, her stomach wrenching as she feared she already knew the answer. “Who completed the formulations for the power cell?”

“Milton has been cloistered with our R&D folks to work on it for the past few days.” 

Jemma tried desperately not to show the growing terror on her face, as she felt her stomach abandon her entirely. It was far too unlikely that Milton was of any practical use. She had done a tremendous amount of work to ensure a safe and efficient combination. So many chemical combinations had a likely high potential for conducting optimal levels of electricity, but the risk of toxic exposure for anyone who came in contact with the battery was much too high. The toxicology field was much too new, and most of the laymen could not possibly understand the exposure risks. “I’m not sure--”

“Not to worry, my dear. Everything is under control.” He confidently assured her with a final pat to her shoulder. “I must be off to work myself, and I know you were just about to leave.”

“Yes,” she said softly. Her father pressed a kiss to her forehead and called for Thomas to bring his car around. She would normally be heading into work, but now it seemed she had far more pressing matters to attend to. Even if it meant having to compromise her principles, she was serving the greater good.

Mustering her nerve just as her father was about to head out the door, she called out. “Dad. Do you recall the number of the Hotel Ritz?”


	4. Chapter 4

With a cryptic send off from Bobbi and no wire this time, Fitz set off to meet with Dr. Simmons at the appointed time in the hotel bar. Bobbi assured him that he would be just fine on his own, insisting he just be himself. When he begrudgingly confirmed that had never gone too well in the past, Bobbi physically pushed him out of the lab and out of the office.

Fitz sighed as he walked into the lift down to the lobby. Clearly it would take his inevitable failure for her to actually understand. 

He might never have even tried to talk to Dr. Simmons were it not for the fact that he was caught quite literally in the study with his hands on _her_ schematics. And even then, he hadn’t known that she was in fact the designer. If he could do it all over again, he would have had a million questions for her on the design, on where she got her ideas, and would have proposed a whole slew of minor changes, assuming of course that she hadn’t pulled the gun on him...or shown up in her robe and nightie. Neither of which had been conducive to his usual, more analytical, frame of mind.

The restaurant in the lobby was little more than a bar with a series of darkened tables in corners and alcoves, perfect for this sort of clandestine meeting. Unfortunately, it also made it more challenging to actually _find_ someone you are trying to meet for such a clandestine meeting. His eyes scanned the tables as he walked in, finding little success as he met a business meeting, a pair of old men chatting and drinking, a rather glamorous woman sitting alone, and a young couple holding hands. 

With a sigh, Fitz strode over to the bar. He didn’t see Dr. Simmons, and he didn’t anticipate that this conversation would be an easy one. She had already been so desperate to leave his company and the information he had to tell her wouldn’t exactly be pleasant.

The bartender finished polishing off a glass as Fitz approached. “What will you have, son?”

“Scotch,” he ordered after a moment’s deliberation, pressing a few pound notes to the bar top.

He wouldn’t blame her for not showing up. She was certainly clever enough that she might suspect that her father’s company had intention to use her work for more nefarious ends. Roxxon didn’t exactly have the best business reputation after all.

The bartender slid the glass across the hardwood. Fitz sat at the bar and took a fortifying sip, savoring the slow burn as he watched the door. 

He hadn’t exactly endeared himself to her any, not with their first meeting with his sticky fingers on her designs. Theft may not have precisely been the goal, but she certainly had been given no cause to doubt that was his intention. 

He definitely would have prefered to have met her first professionally. To have had the chance even just to exchange ideas, even to collaborate would have been far more encouraging than his present work situation, where she clearly could run academic rings around his co-workers. 

Instead, she clearly couldn’t wait to be rid of him. It even looked like she wasn’t going to show up. It was possible that Bobbi and Hunter could work around that hurdle, but if he was going to be honest with himself, it was a rather depressing turn of events.

The bartender chuckled when he set the empty glass back down on the bar. “Cheer up, buddy.”

Fitz frowned back at him. 

The bartender nodded to the table in the corner where the glamorous woman had been seated. “Your friend might have skipped out on you, but I somehow doubt you’ll be alone for long.”

The woman had tugged her sunglasses down enough to reveal a pair of familiar, deep amber eyes, before slipping them back into place.

Fitz turned back to the bartender and tapped the glass. “I think I’m going to need another.”

* * *

What on earth was he doing? Jemma mentally shouted as the frustrating man walked right past her and plopped down at the bar. She truly didn’t have time to waste.

Her foot tapped anxiously beneath the table. It was as if he didn’t see her. It wasn’t as if she had come _that_ incognito. She just didn’t want to be recognized. Her hair was down and curled, not up as usual. She wore a lovely red jacket and black slacks and a lovely pair of shoes that had long been condemned to the back of her closet. She wore red lipstick and black sunglasses to mask her eyes. None of it was to her usual, conservative style.

The one thing growing up with a house staff had taught her was that the people that you least expected would pay the greatest attention, and right now, she couldn’t afford for her presence here to get out. Besides she was in the lab so often recently that it was nice to dress up when she could.

The waitress stopped at her table for what must have been the fifth time, if her put upon expression was any indication. “Another water?”

“A scotch, actually.”

The waitress raised a brow, suddenly far more cheery. “Coming right up.”

She watched him from her table, as he frowned at the door. Perhaps he dreaded meeting her as much as she did him, although it wasn’t at all clear why _he_ might be wary. Perhaps he feared being linked to their unreported break in?

The waitress set her glass on the table. “Anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

Jemma took a sip, watching him at the bar. For all that he was a thief, he did have several positives in his direction: kindness and cleverness. A surprisingly quick wit, even if it did make her far more inclined to roll her eyes. He seemed to the be only one to bother to remember her title, and she had only had to tell him that once. And he was certainly attractive, perfectly symmetrical, especially when not hunched over the bar as he was now.

She casually slipped her glasses down from her nose, spending a bit more time than was strictly necessary to admire his form. Her eyes widened as she realized she had been caught watching him. She snapped her glasses back into place, whispering to herself. “Oh, no!”

* * *

Fitz took a steadying breath before he brought his glass with him over to her table. He must have looked ridiculous sitting at the bar while she had already been there waiting for even longer than he had.

”Good evening. I didn't recognize you.” He sat down beside her in the booth, daring to look over at her. “You look, somehow, different.” She tilted her head, watching him with an odd expression that he couldn’t quite place. “I was surprised to hear from you. Surprised and pleased, Dr.--”

Her hand came up, as if to physically stop him from across the table. “Please, no names.”

Fitz blinked. “If it's all that private, I've got a bottle in my room upstairs.” He winced, as the double entendre caught up to his brain after the words raced past his lips.

“This...is a business meeting.” Dr. Simmons was adamant and suddenly serious. “I find I have need of someone with your talents and experience, Mr.--” 

“Please, no names!” He admonished, not quite able to keep a straight face. He was sure she was rolling her eyes from behind the sunglasses.

Dr. Simmons set her mouth into a determined line, moving a bit closer to him to ensure they would not be overheard.. “Are you interested in a big-time caper?”

Fitz blinked. “A what?”

“A heist,” she whispered.

“You mean a burglary.” Fitz’s eyes mentally gauged the distance across the booth, reasonably certain that she had moved half an inch closer. “What's the score?”

“It won't be easy,” she hedged.

“That's okay,” Fitz assured. Surely Bobbi and Hunter could help him with whatever small problem if it was beyond his scale. Especially if it meant that she kept inching closer. “What's the job? I'm in.”

“The Olympia.” 

“I'm out!” Fitz was half certain that he gasped. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or flummoxed by her confidence in his abilities. Didn’t she remember that he had not managed to leave her own house unscathed? 

“Oh,” she hummed, sinking back into her seat, despondent. She had somehow seemed a bit larger than life, even at her relatively small stature. 

He was curious. What on earth could prompt such a large reaction from her? “Why that particular spot?”

“The Roxxon Battery prototype.”

He fumbled, nearly knocking over his glass. “Your Roxxon Battery prototype?”

“Well, it's not mine exactly,” she murmured. “It's sort of in the family. And between the ownership of multiple companies….Anyway, that should be no concern of yours. I can't legally say more than that.”

“And you want to steal it?” Fitz bit his lip in consternation. “Why? Is it a publicity stunt?”

“Lord, no!” Her sunglasses were off her face and on the table, showing her to be adamant and clearly quite anxious. “It's very dangerous if not handled very carefully. But Roxxon is only caring about its value. It's been valued and insured for a million dollars American!”

“I know,” Fitz grumbled. “It's about a pound a policeman. I can’t say I'm fond of that rate of exchange.”

Her face fell. “You mean you won't do it?”

His gut wrenched at the sight. But he had to be reasonable here. “No.”

“Are you sure?” She couldn’t quite keep a tremble out of her voice.

“Quite sure.” He spoke the words aloud, trying to convince the doubting bit inside his head. “I'm sorry. Truly.”

The pained stare directed at him was doing nothing to soothe his nerves--let alone his conscience. He couldn’t stop himself from rambling on as he stood up. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

Her face was still quite pale and her eyes were marred by dark circles. Whatever had her worried was not letting her sleep, and the sight of her trembling hands clutching her glass rendered him unable to move from that spot.

“Look,” Fitz coaxed, wetting his lips nervously, “you finish your drink...” 

Dr. Simmons drew a halting, gasping breath. “I have to go.”

“Are you really serious? You've seen the levels of security guarding that exhibit. The Electric Eye, the guards…”

She was fiddling with the edge of her sunglasses nervously, as she slid them back into place.. “Well, I was sort of hoping to leave those details to you.”

“I--” Fitz dragged his hand over his jaw, desperate to find her some sort of solution. What she proposed was a much bigger risk than he had ever taken, and not one he was sure he could manage to handle alone. But he also couldn’t drag Bobbi and Hunter in. “I'll sleep on it and... It's too late, the exhibition hall is closed. We'll look over the premises in the morning. What we call in the trade ‘casing the joint’." 

The wide, grateful smile she aimed at him left him floored. “Thank you very much.”

He blinked as she very graciously shook his hand as if they were sealing some iron clad business partnership. It occurred to him, that if he could manage to keep her talking, that he might be able to find something else that would help him to piece together more of her secrets, at least enough to avoid the risk of spending the rest of his life behind bars. It would certainly be no hardship to spend time with her and learn a bit more about her. “Look, it's early yet. Why don't I show you the real London.”

“That's very kind of you,” she replied, amusement dancing in her eyes. “But, I have lived here with my Father...at least since University.”

“Of course,” he grumbled, cursing himself for the fool that he kept proving himself to be around her. “Then why don't you show me the real London?”

To his surprise, she actually seemed to consider the notion. “Another time, perhaps. Once this nasty bit of business is behind me.” 

“Behind us, really.”

She looked at him wide-eyed, as if he were some sort of hero and the possibility of them working together to fix her issue might actually resolve it. Like she hadn’t even hoped it might work, but she needed desperately to try.

“So…”

“So…?” she echoed.

“I'm terribly sorry.” Fitz answered automatically, his eyes still locked with hers. “Where and what time tomorrow? I find that the most successful jobs of this kind are planned... when everyone is relaxed. So let's meet and have a nice, long, cozy cup of tea.”

“Oh,” Jemma smiled sweetly. “That would be lovely. Perhaps that little shop about three blocks up?”

Fitz nodded, not quite able to find his voice in wake of her smile. “Right.” 

* * *

Bobbi slid her high heels off behind the desk of their little office. She was taking a lunch break from her rounds at the Roxxon office while Hunter was being helpful and xeroxing copies of key documents in the back office. She was relishing the coolness of the floor beneath her aching feet when Fitz finally wandered in.

“Slept through your alarm again?” she asked, her eyes breaking away from the thick stack of documentation in front her her.

He nodded, but was very quick to shift his eyes away from her too canny ones. “Something like that.”

When he shifted uncomfortably, she smiled. If he didn’t want to talk about meeting the girl, that was his business--for the moment. “Hunter’s already in the back. Have you had any luck working on those glasses we discussed earlier?” Her grin grew wide. “I’m sure he would not stop asking about it if he knew, which is why I haven’t told him yet.”

Fitz smirked. “I appreciate that. I’m having a bit of difficulty with conducting the wires within the frame. Any components we could purchase just aren’t small enough, so I’m going to need to jury rig quite a bit.”

Fitz clammed up as Hunter reappeared in the doorway with a fresh stack of documents. “Any others, Bob?”

“Just a few.” she assured, handing him the remaining stack. “I’ll need to get back there shortly before they realize the files have gone missing.”

“Fitz!” Hunter grinned. “Sorry. I didn’t even see you there you were so quiet. Any more luck with the girl?” 

Bobbi rolled her eyes. Fitz never really responded well to the less subtle approaches, but news on the battery actually would be helpful.

“It’s...fine.” He muttered, but didn’t meet either of their eyes. 

Bobbi tried to cut through the awkwardness of the silence that fell over the room. “I’ll need to head back to Roxxon shortly. They’re planning some sort of major display with the battery. They’ve been cloistered working on some sort of formula for the past few days. My contact in the lab didn’t seem to think they were making much progress on the original formula, and were working on a functional substitute.”

Fitz’s eyes widened. “What about the safety measures?”

Bobbi blinked. “I honestly haven’t heard anything about that.”

When Fitz looked unsteady on his feet, Hunter was beside him in a moment, helping him over to the nearest chair.

She frowned. “Are you feeling well, Fitz? You look really pale.”

Fitz grimaced, looking extremely unsure on how to proceed. “Would you mind if I took a personal day? I’m not really feeling...well.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You could have just phoned in.”

“I did try a bit earlier, but no one answered,” he grumbled.

Tilting her head, Bobbi crossed her arms. “We should be able to manage for the day on our own if you need the time.”

Fitz coughed. “I… appreciate it.”

Hunter looked concerned. “Feel better, mate.”

Bobbi smiled at Fitz, watching him head back to the door faster than someone genuinely ill ought to.

“Oh, no.” Bobbi narrowed her eyes as the door shut behind him. “That wasn’t suspicious at all.”

“So,” Hunter grabbed his ridiculous hat from the rack. “How long should I give him before I follow?”

Bobbi staged herself by the window. “You go on now. Look up to the window and I’ll tell you which way he’s headed.” 


	5. Chapter 5

Jemma suppressed an urge to laugh while in the passenger seat beside Mr. Fitz. She had hardly met a more anxious man in her life. Which, as she had spent the past few years working with Milton, was actually saying something. “Is it those police that worry you so?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “And these.”

She sighed. “But that's the Ministry of the Interior. It's always guarded.”

“What about them?” Fitz nodded to a second set of security forces.

"They have nothing to do with us. They're guarding government buildings. That's where the Prime Minister lives.”

“I know. But the exhibition hall you want to stick up is right here. Very convenient!” Fitz muttered, sourly. “I can practically taste the bread and water!”

* * *

“That’s odd…” Fitz muttered as examined the battery prototype from nearly every angle that the crowd would allow. 

Jemma frowned as she looked through the program guide for other exhibits that sparked her interest. “What’s odd?”

“It matches the spec sheet exactly,” Fitz mused aloud. He tilted his head, rubbing his jaw silently for a few moments. “I can’t think of a time in recent memory where I haven’t seen written comments in the margin of draft spec sheets. People are always continuously tinkering with the final product, especially with collaborative works like this one.”

The specs had done it justice, but it seemed like there was hardly a refinement from the page. He had a sneaking suspicion that rather than the work of Dr. Milton Taylor, or even possibly a more equally shared work, that this was more specifically Dr. Simmons’ work in entirety. It had been odd that the writing on the schematic matched more of the writing in the drawer. Wouldn’t the collaborator have been on the document, too?

He looked over at Dr. Simmons who was pointedly studying the next exhibit in line. “Isn’t it like that in the laboratory where you work?”

Fitz watched a spark of irritation flash in her eyes, but she was careful not to look at him for more than a moment. “Not particularly.”

He observed her for a while longer trying to figure out how he might get a sample of her writing without her becoming concerned about why he wanted it, until she turned and noticed his scrutiny. Fitz flushed as he was caught in the act.

Dr. Simmons stiffened, meeting his regard incredulously. “Is there anything else we still need to do?”

Fitz pinched himself, trying to steel his mental focus. Amazingly enough, that was not something he usually needed to practice. Dr. Simmons was wreaking havoc on all his habits and carefully laid plans.

He’d already decided he couldn’t bring in Hunter and Bobbi. There was no sense in anyone else getting in such incredible trouble. If he couldn’t puzzle this out, he had no real right to assume his own genius. Truth to be told, he rather desperately wanted to protect Dr. Simmons. She had been so genuine in all their interactions that he couldn’t help but think she feared the consequences of her prototype in the wrong hands. And Roxxon certainly didn’t have the best track record.

He cleared his throat. “I need to make one more stop. But I’m afraid you really can’t come with.”

* * *

Fitz threw open the door, doing his damnedest to channel all of Hunter’s brash confidence and Bobbi’s polish. “Who's in charge here?”

“Sir! At your service!” The man stood swiftly and saluted, nearly knocking over the chessboard on the desk before him. He looked down a moment, before dusting of the cookie crumbs that had gathered on his suit. 

Fitz blinked, drawing a breath. He could only hope that this man wasn’t who he thought it was. Otherwise everything would already have failed. He had spent a fair amount puzzling out this ruse over breakfast this morning. “Hunter, Assistant Deputy Chairman, Commissioner of Tourism. And you are?”

“Billy Koenig, sir.” 

“Yes.“ Fitz narrowed his eyes, focusing his gaze around the empty back room. There was a fascinating door on the other edge of the room that he was a bit desperate to see where it lead. The exhibition hall director must have had a twin brother. “Isn't this place cleaned regularly? Look at this sleeve, just from brushing against the woodwork.”

Billy smiled tightly. “I'm very sorry, sir. We have hired a complete staff of cleaning women.”

Fitz raised a brow. “Once a month, I suppose.”

“No, sir, every night, from midnight until 4:00 a.m.”

Fitz nodded. “Well. See they do their jobs properly, or I'll make a report.” 

Billy saluted again. “Yes, sir.”

Fitz grinned, and half saluted him back. “Carry on.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

Fitz marched quite deliberately to the back door before stopping, confused, in front of the open stairwell below that he had never seen before. It looked isolated and old and like it was never used. _That_ was encouraging, at the very least.

Billy gestured to the other door. “It’s this way, Sir!”

* * *

Fitz extended his arm to Dr. Simmons, anxious to get away. They probably had all the information they were going to get from here anyways. “This way.”

“Alright,” she murmured, shivering slightly. 

Fitz could swear she leaned closer to his ear, but perhaps it was just the roar of the crowd and wishful thinking on his part. He tried not to focus on how easily she slipped her arm through his or the weight of her fingertips through the fabric of his sleeve. Together, they wove their way out of the exhibition hall and away from the crowds to the relative privacy of a nearby park.

Fitz found a nice bench beside a copse of trees, quiet and secluded but near enough to see anyone else walking down the lane. 

He opted to stand when she chose to sit to save a needless bit of pain from her heels. He started to pace, searching for the right words. “Don't you think it's being a bit pushy, starting with a million-dollar robbery? I mean, we've got to walk before we can run, you know. I know of a smaller operation that we could knock over... just to get our feet wet so to speak and then... gathering confidence as we go, we could move into the big time.”

She looked aghast at the entire premise, as if offended he even mentioned robbing anyplace else.

But he had to know for certain. “No good?” he asked aloud, making a point to monitor her reaction.

Jemma merely rolled her eyes. That was quite the understatement. “No good at all.”

“Next question: Why must it be this particular battery?”

She really was affronted, narrowing her eyes and opening her mouth in sheer disbelief before she responded. “You don't think I'd steal something that didn't belong to me, do you?”

“Excuse me, I spoke without thinking.” Fitz paused

“Why not wait until you get it back to Roxxon and steal it then? No muss, no fuss, a nice, clean inside job. I'd be entirely delighted to offer my services.” Fitz didn't bother to mention that Bobbi and Hunter would be delighted at the very prospect. 

“Mr. Fitz,” she stared him down, even more determined. “This is not a prank or a whim. It's something I must do... because I must do it.”

“I see.” Fitz assured, although he really didn't. It would be so much easier on everyone if she would divulge her secret. But her sheer determination and commitment to her cause was admittedly part of her charm. “Let’s look at the facts impartially. We can't get past the alarm. That's out.”

Jemma nodded, standing up beside him. “We can't tamper with it. That's out.”

“We can't turn it off. So, that's out.” Fitz echoed, coming to a halt in his pacing back and forth. “What we need is at precisely the right moment... some trusted member of the museum staff... has to obligingly switch off the alarm system.” 

Jemma grabbed his arm, her eyes flashing with excitement. “Wait. Couldn't we bribe someone?”

“Excellent idea!” Fitz grinned, suddenly all too aware of the fact that she had entirely closed the gap between them. Gulping back against the new wave of anxiety at their proximity, he re-positioned himself to walk side by side with her down the path until inspiration--rather unfortunately-- struck and his face fell. “No, that won’t work.” 

“Why not?” Jemma asked.

Fitz grimaced. “Because we don't know which guard knows how to do it.”

When he started to pace, Jemma matched him in strides. The ideas started to flow so quickly and easily as if they slipped into a language all their own.

 

Jemma smiled, struggling to match his pace in her heels. Both of them tossing out a string of ideas, one making a suggestion, the other pointing out the flaws. 

It was equal parts infuriating and entirely refreshing. Mr. Fitz accepted her ideas with fair consideration, eliminating them only for the most pragmatic of reasons. She gave him the equal respect and equal treatment to which he accepted with equanimity. Were it not that the man was a criminal--she did keep having to remind herself of that fact after all--he would make a far better partner than Milton had made in the few years since college.

They walked the full length of the park at least twice over before reaching a more active section where a group kids were playing. 

They had put forward so many ideas, but it was clear that they were getting nowhere fast. She groaned. “There has to be something we could do…”

“Huh,” Fitz murmured, slowing them both to a stop. 

“What is it?” Jemma’s eye tensed with concern.

“Something interesting,” Fitz grinned, a hint of mischief lighting up his blue eyes. 

Jemma watched Mr. Fitz drop her hand and head over to a group of small boys playing with toy boomerangs with an odd mix of amusement and frustration. They certainly had no time to spare. But when he leaned down to their level in his suit and smiled, she felt a curious little thrill skating down her back and settling into her belly with a vengeance.

“Could you show me how to throw that boomerang?” 

One of the younger boys nodded, sending his blue boomerang with red stripes sadly down into the ground. The boy frowned a bit.

Mr. Fitz was not deterred. “Mind if I give it a try? It seems like there is something about the angle of the throw.”

The little one handed his over and Mr. Fitz straightened back to full height. The boy watched in awe, which Jemma fully understood, as Mr. Fitz sent the boomerang out at a right angle into the wind like a purple blur. He just managed to jump up and catch it with its return. 

Jemma smiled, when he handed the toy back to the child, showing him the proper angle to hold to catch the wind just the right way. But when he was still there chatting a few minutes later, she grew anxious, fidgeting and tempted to wave down his attention.

She was mentally debating the proper way to politely but efficiently extract Mr. Fitz, when he finally strode back in her direction. “That was great fun.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “I thought you said you saw something interesting.”

He crossed his arms across his chest, a bit defiant. “I did. You just saw it.”

Her jaw dropped. “We just wasted time for you to play with a toy?”

He nodded. “And to find out where we could buy one or two of our own.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. “I will buy you a whole crate of them if you could just help me fix this bloody problem.”

“And I’ll hold you to that.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her along. “Come along, Dr. Simmons.”

Fitz stood beside her. “I want you to take a long last look at the blue sky, the green grass... the trees and the river.” She did as she was bid, missing the fact that he was entirely focused on watching her. “All of which I loathe personally, as I never fail to burn to a crisp. Which is why the prospect of a stretch in a cozy prison cell doesn't bother me at all.”

Her eyes widened and she reached out for his arm. “You truly think you have a scheme that might work?” 

When he turned back to her, she followed his eyes down to where her hand met his arm, jerking it back as if burned.

“I have the start of a scheme.”

She sighed, slamming her eyes shut in frustration. He really didn’t have to give her hope just to take it all away. “You really are the most smug, most hateful man.”

“Now, Dr. Simmons.” His ridiculously blue eyes seemed hurt if only for a moment. “If you don’t frequent criminal circles, you can afford to be choosy.”

She didn’t bother to fight the temptation to roll her eyes as he turned and started walking. “Now where are we going?”

“First, to the vendor selling these boomerangs. Then,” he called back over his shoulder, “we’ll have to work from my rooms at the Ritz.”

She tilted her head, parting her lips in disbelief as she followed a few steps behind him. “I'd like to remind you, Mr. Fitz, that ours is a business relationship.”

Jemma nearly ran into him as he very suddenly stopped and turned back towards. “I am aware of that.” He murmured, locking eyes with her again, holding her gaze far longer than necessary. “I'm also aware of the social gulf between us. You are an aristocrat, and I am a humble burglar.”

“Right,” she croaked, hoping he didn’t notice.

* * *

Fitz tossed Dr. Simmons the bag of clothes that had been waiting for him as a package at the front desk. “There's the bathroom. Take off your clothes.”

His words didn’t even sink in until Dr. Simmons chided him as she turned away from him to change. “Mr. Fitz, are we planning the same sort of crime?”

Tempted as he was to beat his head against the wall, he settled for turning his eyes and hands up to the ceiling, rather desperately seeking some sort of guidance and the cosmos. “No! I didn’t mean--they’re not...” Fitz covered his eyes with his palm, took a deep breath to reset his composure, then looked back at her irritatingly cheeky grin. “It's dress-rehearsal time. That's why we bought all this lovely junk.”

Her brow lifted skeptically, grin somewhat muted.

“Come on. It's a necessary part of the plan…”

“You’re sure?”

When he nodded, she accepted the brown paper bag and turned to the bedroom to change. 

* * *

Jemma returned from the bathroom in a very drab navy blue coat and deep red skirt. It was downright charitable to call these clothes, when they were in fact far closer to rags.

Frowning slightly as his eyes roved up and down her frame, she asked, “Do I look alright?”

He stood stock still, and she fidgeted under his silent attention. 

She was happy enough when he finally moved, motioning for her to spin around. “Well?”

“It looks nice.” His voice sounded a half octave lower. “It just needs one more little touch.”

Eye wide, she examined the deep red hat in detail before he plopped it down on her head, obscuring her face.

“That does it,” Mr. Fitz murmured as he tugged the wide brim further down over her eyes.

“Does what?” She looked up, sneaking a peek from under the hat.

“For one thing, it gives Ann a night off.” He scrubbed his cheek, apparently considering the next course of action. “Now... Down! Scrub the floor.”

She stalled, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. “Crime doesn't pay, does it?”

“Elbow grease! Scrub!”

She rolled her eyes. He clearly was enjoying all this a bit too much.

“And don't sulk. At 11:57 p.m., all hell will break loose in the museum. And at midnight, the scrub women come trooping in. Whatever happens, hang onto your bucket.”

She jerked back up from her fake scrubbing. “You do have a plan, don't you?”

His eyes were narrowed. “Of course I have. Now listen very carefully. My plan is, on the night of the crime... my plan and I will be curled up in that bed with a good book.”

Jemma was suddenly cold and breathless. Wasn’t he going to help her? “Why?”

“You asked me why? I ask you why. Why are we breaking into a heavily guarded exhibition hall... to steal a prototype which rightfully belongs to you?”

Jemma shook her head, hating the fact that she really couldn’t tell him more without possibly violating the terms of her confidentiality agreement. “But I told you why I couldn't tell you why.”

“Not good enough.” 

“You're perfectly right. In your place, I'd feel the same way. I'm just in this awful trouble.” Wringing her hands, she fought to keep her breathing steady and her mind focused. “But it's nothing to do with you. I just can't explain so I'm stuck. I-I'll get out of these clothes.”

She didn’t dare cry. She’d just have to figure things out by herself. In less than 24 hours Somehow.

When she felt the tears well up, she turned around so he couldn’t see, exhaling the breath she hadn’t realized she held back in hopes it would let her settle down. 

Everything would be utterly useless if she couldn’t think. People would get hurt for her own stubbornness. They might have treated her poorly, but she didn’t wish them physical harm. And lord only knows where the demonstration her father had mentioned might be held.

 

Fitz watched her as best as he could for some clue. He was starting to second guess his decision to keep Bobbi and Hunter out of this. Bobbi’s skills would be tremendously useful in digging up Dr. Simmons's cause for concern.

She was trying her hardest to hide her reaction, even though it clearly upset her. But he was starting to get a sense of what must be worrying her, and between her reaction and his own doubts, there really was legitimate cause for concern.

“Dr. Simmons…” Fitz hedged. “Is it really that bad?”

She nodded, trying to subtly wipe her eyes free of any sign of tears. “It’s worse.”

Fitz closed his eyes, desperately trying to collect his thoughts. Though he had what might generously be referred to as a plan in mind, it was incredibly risky. Attempting to carry it out would put them both in a fair amount of jeopardy, and quite possibly land them both in prison for most if not the rest of their lives. A prospect he really wasn’t fond of either way. If her work was any indication, they both had so much potential to shape the face of technology in the next decade or so.

So, lost in his own thoughts, he missed her footfalls carrying into the other room to get changed.

Jemma no longer had time to spare. She would just have to do everything herself with even less time. Although, perhaps she could at least convince him to tell her the idea he had and beg his silence.

Stoically she handed him back the bag of rags. “Mr. Fitz, I--”

He blinked. “What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you back your things, since you’re not going to help.”

“I--” His jaw dropped. “When did I say I wouldn’t help?”

She fidgeted anxiously, crinkling the paper bag in her hands. “You have not exactly seemed to be inclined to help today.” When he continued to stare at her with no other response, she gulped, feeling like she had to fill the uncomfortable silence. “I do understand and all. I can’t very well censure you for your choices and then ask your help on such a challenge at the next opportunity--”

“Dr. Simmons,” Mr. Fitz broke in. “It’s alright.”

She looked back over her shoulder. Mr. Fitz’s smile was still a bit tense, but his jaw was set, determined.

“We’ll fix this together.”

Jemma heard herself gasp, before she was self-aware enough to collect herself. Her lips turned upwards all of their own volition, and she marveled as his own smile grew wider, his eyes more impossibly blue.

“Tomorrow. Outside the Olympia at 5:30 pm.”

She could barely restrain the urge to throw her arms around him in a hug. “Oh. Thank you, Mr. Fitz!”


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma cut the time far too close. She had spent a little too long selecting her outfit, styling her hair, and applying just a touch of makeup. But if this might be her last outing as a free woman, then she was going to go out in style. It only might have had a _little_ to do with the fact that she was going to collaborate with Mr. Fitz again.

“I won't be in for dinner, Thomas,” she said as she hurried down the steps. “And I may be out quite late, in fact. If anybody calls, anyone at all, you don't know where I am, or how to reach me.” 

“Yes, Miss,” he answered, holding out her coat. She put it on in haste, heading towards the door before realizing she’d almost forgotten her extra clothes. With a gasp, she darted back to the closet for her bag of scrubwoman rags, just as the doorbell rang. She cursed silently and hid behind the closet door.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Thomas intoned formally.

“Just tell Miss Simmons that I'm here, please?”

“I'm sorry, sir. Miss Simmons has gone out.”

Jemma frowned. Why had Mr. Daniels come here to the house? They hadn’t made any further arrangements to meet.

“Out? Are you sure? Isn’t that her car in the courtyard?”

“Quite sure, sir. She took a taxi.”

“Well, I'll wait.”

Jemma rolled her eyes. There was no other alternative than to literally walk past him if she would ever be able to meet with Mr. Fitz in time. She plastered on a pleasant smile and threw open the closet door, bag in hand.

“Why, hello... What a nice surprise! I did go out. I forgot something, so I came in again. The servants' entrance. I'm afraid I need to rush out again.”

“Thank you.” Thomas bowed. “I'll let Mr. Daniels out.” 

“No. I'm all rehearsed, made up, and ready to go on,” Mr. Daniels beamed. “Luckily it's only a short speech.”

“I’m sorry. I have a pressing business appointment. I can't be late…”

“Business! That's all you British girls ever think about.”

“Well, a minute then. A second, really. I truly am in quite a rush.”

“You're in a rush. You want action? Fine! That's my mood, too. Here. Catch.”

“Oh!” She gasped, barely catching the box. She opened it quickly and gasped at its shining contents. “Mr. Daniels? Why on earth--”

“Why?” He grinned. “Why that's the silliest question I ever heard of.”

“We barely even know each other!” Jemma was literally mind-boggled at this turn of events. What on earth would possess the man to think she’d be _this_ interested? She tried to hand back the ring box. “If you would please come back tomorrow we could actually talk about this…”

“No.” He pressed the box back into her hands. “I made up my mind. Man of action! Snap judgment. I bought a--” He stopped short, correcting himself. “Well, it is classified, but it was one of the best deals I ever made.”

Jemma rolled her eyes, then letting her eyes drift over to the grandfather clock face in the corner. “I'm not getting engaged to a man I barely know.”

“You'll get to know me.” He pressed the box back into her hands “There. That's it. It's a deal?”

“Yes. But, no! Oh...I'm a bit dizzy.” Jemma took a deep breath. “Look, Mr. Daniels. The ring really is lovely, really, but--” 

“But?”

The chiming of the hour tolled.

“Oh, bloody hell! I really have to run.” She grabbed the ring and ran out towards the waiting car.

* * *

Fitz paced anxiously outside of the exhibition hall. He was getting an evil eye from the ticket taker who looked ready to go home. 

He breathed when Dr. Simmons slid out of the taxi, meeting her halfway. She looked lovely but there was hardly even time to say so. “Where have you been?”

She sighed. “Apparently, I was getting engaged.”

He gaped at her, his mind coming to a grinding halt. That had been literally the last thing he'd imagined when she was running late.

“Well? Come on,” When she extended her hand to him, he stared at it dumbly for a few moments. “This fellow came when I was leaving. He wants to marry me. I didn't want to keep you waiting, so I got engaged to him. Technically. I think.”

Eyebrows lifted, he still looked at her incredulously. How did one get engaged “technically”?

She frowned, suddenly worried. “Is it alright? Am I on time?”

“Oh. You’re fine.” Fitz coughed, finally finding his voice again. “In fact, we have 10 more minutes. If you'd like to go back and marry him…”

Dr. Simmons rolled her eyes tugging him along a bit faster. “Come on.”

* * *

Jemma felt a brief moment of pure panic when she was stopped and directed to keep her bag and coat at the door. “Miss, would you check your parcel, please?”

Breathing she stepped forward, dropping her jacket and parcel off for the thirty minutes they had remaining before the exhibit would close. Smiling sweetly, she accepted the proffered coat check ticket. “Thank you.”

Mr. Fitz stayed with her, eyeing where the coat check attendant had placed her bag. They walked together in mostly companionable silence down the main hallway of the gallery, where the prototype was displayed.

She smiled as he leaned in closer to her. It dimmed somewhat when he relayed more instructions and then pulled away.

She walked over to the nearest guard, pulling an uncomfortably tight smile. “Excuse me, sir. Could you point me in the direction of the...ummm...ladies’ room?”

The older guard smiled. “It is that way, dear.”

“Thank you.” She said, plastering on a congenial smile, walking in the exact opposite direction to meet up with Mr. Fitz as he circled around the edge of the stairwell. “Well?”

He smiled tightly, his mind clearly processing information as he crested the top of the stairs. “Just checking on the accommodations.”

She sighed as he became occupied with looking at the prototype. Even now he was still being vague with the details. However did he really expect her to be a useful partner in all this if he didn’t let her know just what he was planning?

He started focusing back at it. It was strange how they had known each other for only a brief while, and yet she had already learned the clear signs of him retreating back into his own thoughts. He kept looking back and forth between her and the prototype.

“Oh please,” she whimpered. “Don't start that. Not again."

He shook his head. “Really. I could swear that--”

Jemma slipped her arm through his, physically tugging him away. “There will be time for that later, if all goes well.”

“Well,” Fitz conceded, “we do have a few moments to view the nearby exhibits.”

They spent a few moments circling the displays out at the edge of the hall, where fewer people were milling about.

She leaned her head in to whisper as they wove in between exhibits. “How do we get past the alarm?”

“I'm depending on normal human reactions. The great thing about nice, complicated mechanical devices is...if they do suddenly go haywire…” he trailed off as their eyes locked.

“Yes.” Jemma urged. “What's after haywire?”

Fitz eyed a nearby guard and moved them to a less crowded space near a convenient break in the wall with a tiny alcove for a utility door. “The people in charge have a tendency to panic... and to run around in confused circles. That is the moment we strike.”

Jemma narrowed her eyes, considering. It was a surprisingly sound bit of common sense--one that truly just might work. She squeezed his hand in encouragement. They both could actually manage to pull this all off and keep literally hundreds of people safe from the threat Roxxon seemed to be bent on rushing everyone desperately towards.

“Now,” Fitz spoke softly, thumbing through the program guide in his hands, “this is the point of no return. In precisely one minute, the closing bell will ring. We can leave with the others and have a quiet dinner, or we stay. Then we're committed to go through with it. Do you really want it...that much?”

“More.” Jemma replied without hesitation, entirely resolute. She couldn’t live with the possible risk to human lives on her conscience. And despite multiple efforts, her father would not allow her to work on the project unless she signed a long term contract. He truly believed that Milton was actually capable of understanding the toxicity side, and had probably been convinced that she was just exaggerating his lack of ability for these past few years.

Fitz was watching her very carefully. She smiled and nodded to him. It was entirely worth the risk.

 

“Okay,” He nodded back to Dr. Simmons. “You're the boss. Just do as I tell you.” 

He lead her back down the hallway towards the crowd and the tiny utility closet that would keep them well hidden for the better part of the evening. “We will need to make it appear as if we are leaving with the rest of the crowd.”

She smiled, studiedly observing the exhibits as they moved past. “I understand.”

Fitz held the program guide open to cover his watch as they both looked on. She had crowded in closer to him again, seemingly unaware of her persistent intrusion into his personal space. He tried to focus his full attention on his watch, as their very future depended on him having his wits about him. Was this what it was like for Bobbi and Hunter all the time? He cleared his throat nervously. “Stand by for the countdown. Six, five, four... three, two, one... Now!”

Their eyes met, hers widening in concern. He, too, was confused, rattling the watch to make sure the inner gears were functioning properly. They both jumped when, moments later, the alarm signaling all to vacate the premises finally came. Jemma held his program while he quickly adjusted his timepiece to match the Exhibition Hall’s clock.

As most of the crowd started to shuffle out, he spotted one of the staff starting to sweep up. Hunter and Bobbi always talked about distractions, and there was one distraction that was effective across the broad spectrum of attendees and staff still in the building. He reached into his pocket for a handful of coins, putting them into the program book and setting it carelessly on top of one of the benches. “Watch for normal human reactions.”

He pulled Dr. Simmons a few meters away close to the alcove and waited for the janitor to pick up the program. Right on cue, coins went flinging in multiple directions. Attendees and guards immediately stooped and fumbled around to scoop up the cash.

Without a word, Fitz nodded her in the direction of a large exhibit that she could duck behind as he slowly moved from the other side. With as much stealth as he could manage, he wound his way over to join her as the guards chased the rest of the group out to the entrance.

He breathed, crouched down beside the display with her. They wouldn’t have much time to scurry over to the utility closet. He just had to hope that he had gathered everything they would need from here on in.

 

Jemma blew out an anxious breath, hunched over beside him. They still were so exposed at the moment. She even a bit more than he, as she hadn’t been a mind reader to his rather intricate plan. Silently cursing her skirt, she tugged it down just a bit further.

Mr. Fitz had peeked his head out briefly to check that the guards were clear of their area and they could scurry over to the closet unseen.

“Now?” she mouthed.

He shook his head, whispering, “but be ready for my signal.” 

She huddled closer, fearing that anything was visible beyond the edge of the exhibit, as he cautiously peered around the side again.

He tapped her arm, mouthing, “Go!”

She did not need to be told twice, moving as quickly and as quietly as her heels would allow. He was practically right on top of her, and their shoulders bumped as they scrambled into the tiny closet, which was built under the staircase. Even as short as she was, she couldn’t stand at full height.

Soon Jemma found herself practically plastered to the wall, standing back to back with him as he examined the contents of the closet with a tiny flashlight. He moved in a tight circle first, moving the flashlight around at as close to eye level as the small space would allow them both to be, then repeated the process a foot or two below. 

She couldn’t help but adjust her skirt again as his flashlight moved past. 

He chuckled, although even in this near dark he sounded a bit grumpy--a sentiment that she heartily echoed at the moment. “Comfy?”

She sighed, struggling to find some sort of position she could maintain for at least an hour or so. “I hadn't counted on there being quite so much togetherness.”

“It's the height of the tourist season.” He shone the light between their faces, pursing his lips slightly. “Everything was booked. Best I could do, unfortunately...”

He trailed off as a noise could be heard outside the door. Quietly hushing them both, Fitz doused the flashlight with his jacket until he could shut it off completely.

Jemma leaned against him instinctively. They could hear the guards milling about to begin their rounds. Her heart raced and she felt slightly nauseated, but from where her arm was grabbing Mr. Fitz’s, she could tell that she wasn’t alone in that concern.

* * *

Fitz relished the feel of her pressed against him a bit guiltily. She was engaged after all, even if only technically. Not that this cramped little closet allowed for much other options.

The door at least allowed him to identify the key features he would need to exploit in order to get them both through this mess safely.

When the door slammed shut, surely locking, he pushed Dr. Simmons along into an even more cramped corner. They needed to be out of sight now as he suspected the guard would need to open the closet and confirm that no one was hiding inside.

She gasped audibly as he pushed her back into the corner, and he felt immediately guilty. But there would be time for apologies later, assuming they were not discovered right out of the gate. He was forced to use the darker color of his suit to mask their presence as her white dress would stick out against the darkness.

They were squished together into the darkened corner barely more than two feet wide, where a set of cleaning products lined the other side. Necessity had them both facing each other, their faces mere inches apart, neither of them even daring to breath as the door flung open.

Those moments felt like an eternity, watching her eyes dramatically widen even in the darkness and feeling her heart beat racing, echoing in near perfect time with his for those fleeting seconds.

He dared to breathe as the door hinges squeaked, signalling the door was about to close again. Fitz moved a half step back to allow her at least a bit of space. 

The snick of the lock clicked together, prompting Dr. Simmons to gasp. Her hands covered her mouth to keep from shouting aloud. She didn’t dare speak for a few moments, in case the guard lingered. “He locked the door. He's locked us in.”

Fitz backed up entirely, flashlight on again as he moved over to the door, letting her have what little motion that the whole of their cramped quarters would allow. “It's challenging, I admit, but doesn't that make it more interesting?”

Jemma whimpered softly. “I think I might faint.”

“Don't.” Fitz muttered, re-positioning himself beside the door frame. “There's no room.”

* * *

Jemma sighed, leaning back against the chill of the heavy plaster wall and glancing back over at Fitz, who had busied himself by quietly marking off the walls with a bit of chalk he had tucked away in a sock.

She hadn’t quite counted on the proximity of long duration. It was making her all too aware of the scent of his cologne that she had gotten a full dose of in that terrifying moment when the guard opened the door of their little hideaway. Her eyes kept drifting up to his lips, as he worried them with his teeth trying to get his measurements just so.

The amount of care she could appreciate as a scientist. Everything else she was just trying to file away for a rainy day. She needed to be focused and entirely careful to make sure she didn’t spoil any of his still vague “plans.”

Throughout the past hour or so since the guards had left, she and Mr. Fitz had only spoken to each other briefly, about anything and everything--even about a few of the exhibits-- just to break apart of long silence and keep their minds off their rapidly aching muscles. She still eyed the door with concern.

But, there was no choice. Mr. Fitz had explained they had to keep listening and waiting to hear when the guards would make their rounds. They needed to know when it might be safe to move about and to try to unlock the door.

He kept assuring her he actually did have a plan, and that she’d have to trust that he had everything well in hand. Considering they’d managed to get this far, that was no small feat. But, also considering Milton, her Father, and even Mr. Daniels, trust in men was not something she had in large supply.

* * *

“All right, boys.” Billy Koenig tapped his foot, watching for the clock to roll over to the hour and kick them all into gear. “Time to go.”

Doug was busy cutting into his sandwich from home while O’Brien and Adams were into the tail end of a chess game. Sam had his feet up on the table and his hat tugged down over his eyes and was snoring loudly.

Billy narrowed his eyes, jostling the table to wake his brother up. “Didn't you hear me?”

Sam wiped his eyes, begrudgingly standing up and stretching. “You really are such a taskmaster. You know that, Billy? A few extra minutes here or there won’t matter a bit.”

Billy smirked. “You’re just mad because Eric decided I was more reliable after you spent the better part of a decade giving him wedgies.”

Sam rolled his eyes, falling in line behind the others as they strolled the ever empty halls. Head night guard was such an “important job”, and Billy never failed to let him know it. 

At least he had a hidden bottle of liquor hiding in the fire station bucket behind the back stairwell, where he needed to manually test the alarm. He could take a solid swig before he had to go back and put up with his brother’s sanctimonious antics for another night.

* * *

Jemma felt the tension ebb from her body, no longer coiled like a spring as the sound of shoes echoed further and further away, no longer vibrating the whole of the closet as a guard passed up the staircase overhead. It seemed that the guards trusted their first real pass through--for this time at least.

“Alright,” she whispered from her space right beside him at the door. They both held on to each other--quite without realizing it. The passing of fear brought renewed awareness, especially once Mr. Fitz turned the flashlight on and jolted her back to reality as her eyes re-adjusted to the light..

Backing away from him, from the question in his eyes and his far too fascinating tendency to nip at his lower lip when he was worried, she spoke softly. “So now we have a fix on when they make their rounds.”

Mr. Fitz glanced down at his watch. “Exactly every hour.”

“But we are are still locked in.” She tilted her head. “Just how did you plan to get us out of this one?”

He tugged two u-shaped magnets out of his jacket pockets with a grin. “You remember those chalk marks?”

Her eyes widened as she matched his grin. “You were plotting a map...to a key?”

“Yes,” he whispered. “There were actually ten skeleton keys in total and the number on the door was four, so I’ve plotted the way to that key in particular.”

“And two magnets?” 

He fiddled with one of them, spinning it around in his hands. “The longer one should help us spin it off the hook and bring it around to the door. The second is a much stronger magnet and should allow us to hold it through the thinner wall and pull it around to the lock.”

Jemma smiled. It was actually a very solid plan, assuming that the magnets were strong enough. But it would require quite a bit of care, patience, and a steady hand. All of which she had spent the past few years honing with her laboratory experiments. “How can I help?”

He looked back to her, considering. “A second pair of hands would be useful, just in case we have difficulty getting past a corner or some other obstruction.”

“Then let’s get to work.”


	7. Chapter 7

Fitz drew a desperate, steadying breath. He was having the damnedest time keeping his composure with her lingering so close. Even with the close quarters, he had the most unnerving suspicion that she tended to instinctively drift towards him. It was getting far too hard to gauge objectively with her perfume and her smile all too close. He had to keep her physically and mentally at arm’s length. She was far too ideal of a potential lab partner based upon her quick wit and her work product.

Besides, she was _technically_ engaged. Whatever that truly meant.

So their interactions would be forever doomed to be platonic. It would be enough. It had to be.

Mentally shaking himself, he knew it was time to move forward. They had to solve this one problem first, and while he was as prepared as he could be from within the locked room, there was still a tremendous amount of room for error. Holding the stronger magnet in place over the location he’d marked for key #4, he brought the longer, horseshoe magnet up, situating it on either side and twisting.

 

Jemma held her breath, anchoring her hands at her sides for the moment. She was so tempted to place a re-assuring hand on his shoulder, but didn’t dare disturb his focus until they had a guaranteed way out of this tiny closet.

Peering over his shoulder, she watched with rapt fascination as he spun the longer magnet clockwise with agonizingly slow but deliberate speed to bring it clear of the hook. It could barely be heard from their side of the wall, but the slightest clink of metal seemed to indicate his success. He definitely had an uncanny knack for mechanical interactions. Perhaps that was a handy skill to possess for a thief?

“Hold that,” Mr. Fitz whispered, passing her the longer magnet for safe-keeping and fixing his intense focus on the problem of slowly walking the key around the wall, past the corner, and--she assumed--inside the closet to unlock the door.

Jemma stood at his shoulder, watching and waiting. She held the flashlight overhead so he could see to travel along the lines he had drawn. The other magnet rested in the palm of her hand just in case. A bead of sweat traveled down the back of his neck, a tribute to his intense focus, but one that had her concerned. What if his hold slipped? How strong was the magnetic connection through the wall?

As if her thoughts had summoned it, his magnet slipped a fraction of an inch just above the edge of the door. Fitz quickly moved down to catch it, just as she leaned in to do so as well.

A wave of emotions coursed through his eyes--so many that she did not dare to consider their names--as they both stopped the key from its free fall. She stood right at his side, a necessity to keep the hold on the magnets.

Mr. Fitz had collected himself, returning his jaw to its usual place from the shock and fear of nearly losing hold. “Ready?” he croaked.

She met his eyes and nodded, looking back to where their hands nearly met to keep the tenuous hold on the key.

“We should just need to slowly lower it to the floor, and then we should be able to pull it in here.”

In caution, she moved even closer to this door, moving in concert with him to slowly bring the key down to the base of the door.

 

Fitz smiled as the shadow of the key appeared under the door. It would be premature to think they were home free, as they still had yet to get past the guards and steal her prototype.

He flipped the magnet, allowing the force of the stronger pole to drag the key the rest of the way under the door.

But the way her face lit up as she said “Brilliant!” was a fairly powerful motivator, driving him onward to something far more than he had ever dared.

He picked up the key, inserting it into the interior section of the keyhole, where the pins clearly did not go all the way through.

Dr. Simmons gaped. “It doesn't open from the inside.”

Fitz frowned as he watched her face fall, hating the simple thought of disappointing her. He should have checked the bloody inside of the door when he had the extra few seconds earlier. “By a strange coincidence,” he murmured, lifting his arm and digging into the sleeve, ”I just happen to have brought something that might help. It’s nothing much to look at, but it should be reasonably effective.” He slid the bit of rope with a metal end out from its hiding place in his sleeve, silently thanking his own forethought in keeping his break-in box at his hotel room rather than returning it to the office.

Sliding the metal end through the keyhole, he threaded the thin bit of rope out the door, letting gravity drag the metal edge down to the base of the door. He tugged at his tie, flipping the back around to unveil the nine inch hook. Without a word, he slipped it under the door to catch and drag the rope underneath and back to her waiting hands.

 

She steadied the rope as he clicked the skeleton key into place. It was critical that the key be secure in order for this whole plan to work.

Jemma smiled as he lifted the rope to test the connection to the key.

“Now…” he busied himself in slipping it back under the door, and threading the rope back into the inside.

Mr. Fitz truly had planned to the tiniest detail. She did not dare yet hope that everything would work out in collecting the prototype, but truly the situation was encouraging. She could not have asked for a better partner in all of this.

Her attention shifted away from studying his profile, back to the lock as the key slipped into place and the metal holder dropped off. He pulled a pair of needle nosed pliers from another pocket, grabbing the tiny edge of the key and twisting it with the utmost caution until the door popped open.

The man was marvelous. He grinned back at her, his eyes a dazzling blue as the ambient light of the Olympia flooded in. Her eyes widened. Had she just said that aloud?

“No applause, please.”

She rolled her eyes. Of course, there was a bit of a challenge with his showing off.

Mr. Fitz tugged at his other sleeve, peeling off the thick piece of mailing tape pressed to his arm. “Wait till you see what I do for an encore.”

He stood up, groaning slightly at the new found freedom as he pressed the tape to cover the lock and prevent it from catching.

She blinked when he stretched and didn’t immediately sneak back in. What on earth was he thinking?

When he started to jog back towards the entrance she hissed, “What are you doing?”

* * *

After replacing key #4 back onto it’s designated hook, Fitz snuck around the edge of the hallway. By his calculations, they’d have nearly forty five minutes until the guards would make their next circuit, but he did not dare waste any more time. They were currently missing a key piece of the puzzle--one that would keep her well protected.

Nearing the edge of the coat check, he proceeded with caution to recover her brown paper bag and the sole remaining coat check ticket left along the counter. Nothing must be left to link them to this, provided they both managed to get away from all this safely.

Sticking to the shadows, he cautiously took the parcel back to their closet.

* * *

Leaning down, Jemma paced the tiny space, feeling anxiety weigh like a tonne of bricks on her chest. Her mind raced with questions that could only be answered with patience that she did not possess right now. Where on earth did he go? What if he had gotten himself caught? What was the rest of his plan? Why was he being so secretive?

She gasped when he opened the door again, her brown bag in hand. Sighing, she held her arms outstretched. At least one of her questions had been answered.

“Put those on now.”

They milled around each other, she unpacking the clothes in the bag, and he re-situating themselves in the closet, sticking that small hook from earlier into the keyhole.

“Turn around,” she ordered firmly.

Mr. Fitz looked legitimately confused. “Whatever for?”

When she narrowed her eyes in disbelief and slid her fingers in gesture to the zipper at the back of her neck, he blushed furiously. “They go on over your clothes.”

Fitz moved in as much synchronicity as their limited space and the awkwardness of dressing and not being smacked in the face by an errant hand allowed.

“There,” he breathed, re-assuming his place near the door as he helped her to slip on the ratty old pair of flats.

“Thank you,” she answered, leaning her head back against the wall. “Now, can we steal that prototype soon? Really, I hate to complain but--”

“Have patience.” He patted her hand comfortingly. “We will.”

“When? And how?”

He tilted his head, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “Now look, if you were a guard and had to sit night after night guarding nonsense you couldn't understand and didn't particularly like, how would you feel?”

She answered far too easily. “Irritable.”

“Exactly.” He dug out the final chess piece that remained hidden in the suit: the red and blue boomerang.

“Oh, no!” she groaned.

He smirked back at her. “It's psychological warfare.”

“With that?” she regarded him with absolute disbelief.

He nodded, sliding the two pieces of the boomerang into place. “With this.”

Fitz snuck out the door, closing her in. If this all went to hell, the least he could do was to be the easy target to let her get away safe.

He eyed the prototype display and the series of blue lights that indicated the periphery of the alarm system. He just needed to hit the right angle to trigger the alarm, recover the boomerang, and run like mad back down to the closet.

Mentally prepared, he lined up his throw and released, sending his first attempt far too wide around the monitoring system. He jumped up and caught the boomerang, before seeking out a better angle to accommodate both triggering the alarm and his own limited sprinting speed.

He eyed a few possibilities before selecting the next closest to the closet, and flinging it wide, grinning like a small boy at Christmas as the display lit up and bells rang out.

The boomerang came back, ricocheting off his hand. He had to scramble a few extra feet out of his way to pick it back up before dashing back over to the closet. Dr. Simmons already had the door open waiting for him. Scooting in beside her, he accepted her anxious hug, pulling the door shut tight and holding on to the hook that would feign their locked little room.

* * *

Billy frowned, barking orders at the assembled guards in the break room. “Turn on the lights. Follow me!”

The guards all scrambled out of the room behind him, tearing into the main hall. “Spread out and look around.”

He breathed a bit easier when the prototype was clearly still in its place but the stand was lit up for some odd reason. They would have to shut down and turn the alarms back on. But the police would already be on their way for a report at the very least.

* * *

After he had scoured his designated wing, Sam slipped into the back hallway, sneaking a tipple of vodka from the bottle he had hidden in the fire bucket.

He burped before re-joining everyone outside the heavily alarmed display. “Nothing is missing from my wing.”

Billy frowned. “So that indicates that no one broke in.”

“I checked the alarm equipment.” Doug announced. “It isn't some sort of short circuit.”

“You re-set everything properly?” Billy asked, arms folded across his chest.

“Of course,” Doug countered.

Billy shook his head, waving off the crew of police that had arrived for support. “Scientists! I swear, they found a way to make a burglar alarm especially designed to give me heartburn.”

The officers departed, happy at least to have dodged more than a single sheet of paperwork for the night.

Billy waited until the last officer had departed the building, then locked the doors. “Alright, let’s head back.”

There was an audible grumble from O’Brien as he was ordered to lead the pack of guards back into their tiny office where the phone was ringing.

Billy ran to pick it up. “Senior Guard Billy Koenig speaking.”

His brows raised and he tamped down the urge to panic. “I regret very much if the Minister and the Madam Minister... have been disturbed. Yes, I know it's a very loud alarm. We don't know why it went off. We checked everything, and so did the police. But... No, sir, nothing is missing, and the alarms are set again. I'm sorry, sir. Good night, sir.”

Nearly all of the assembled guards gaped when Billy announced, “The alarm bells woke up the Home Secretary.”

All gaped but Sam, that is, who only rolled his eyes. “Good!”

* * *

“Well, that was terrifying. My heart's thumping, and I just feel terrible.” Jemma gasped, settling back against the wall beside him. “I’m not really sure I can get used to these bad girl shenanigans.”

He finally had chanced letting go of the hook that pretended the lock was still functional and blood was finally circulating back to his hand. “I'd send for a doctor but I honestly don't think he'd fit in the closet.”

She half-smiled and half-rolled her eyes to that. “I'm so scared for you, too. I had no right to involve you in this. And if you want to call it off, well, I’ll…”

“Well, that's a kind thought and I appreciate it, but then... What about the demonstration? What happens tomorrow when it is tested before a whole audience of attendees here at the exhibition hall?”

Her knees would have buckled from the shock if she wasn’t already on the floor. She bit her lip, forcing herself to focus. “I very much suspect that the combination my partner will want to use is toxic.”

His eyes widened. “I knew it was bad, but you were right to be so frightened.”

She looked down at the spare inch of space separating their fingers on the dusty floor, before meeting his eyes again. “How long have you known about the demonstration?”

“Only a little while.” He admitted, his eyes still magically blue even in the dim light. “Not nearly as long as I knew you were the real brains behind the prototype itself.”

She grinned back at him before another thought left her at a full mental stop. Her whole body turned towards him in that tight space. “But if you knew it was mine, why did you…?”

He bit his lip, a habit she knew by now to be anxious on his part. But she was flummoxed when his eyes very clearly slid down to her lips--twice!-- and then he inched only slightly closer.

When she mirrored his action, he quickly closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers as if she were precious and fragile.

When he drew back from her a short while later, he was still anxiously biting his lip.

Jemma just gaped at him. “That's why! I'm so stupid.”

He closed the gap between them, pressing his forehead to hers. “No, you’re really not.”

“Mmmm.” She smiled mischievously, threading her fingers into his curls, and urging him forward. “I think I need you to explain it to me again, Mr. Fitz.”

He groaned. “Just Fitz, please.”

* * *

“It quite funny how roomy it's suddenly become in here.” Dr. Simmons--Jemma, he reminded himself--spoke from where she had been curled up across his lap.

He grinned, tracing his fingers along the exposed skin of her forearms to lace his fingers with hers. “We're adjusting to our environment.”

But he frowned as he hit metal.

She was instantly concerned, squeezing his hand. “What is it?”

He held their joined hands up between them, pointedly lifting the ring to eye level.

“Oh….the engagement ring.” She chuckled, blushing back at him. “Honestly, I had forgotten all about it.”

“So did I.” Tilting his head, he relished the blush on her cheeks almost as much as he had enjoyed actually kissing her. “I suppose I should offer my congratulations. May I kiss the bride?”

She grinned, rolling her eyes while leaning into his kiss.

He felt like pinching himself to make sure he was still wide awake, not quite believing his ridiculous luck. A girl that clever and that pretty wanting to spend time with him. Trusting him and leaning on him--literally and figuratively--through this crazy set of circumstances.

It was unbearably, inescapably sweet...until she started to nibble at his bottom lip with her teeth. If he didn’t let her go soon, they were going to have a problem.

He pulled back suddenly. “For one thing, whose bride am I kissing?

“I don't know, Fitz.” She frowned in surprise at the sudden distance. “Some American. His name's Will Daniels. Or was is Dan Williams?”

Fitz snorted. If she really couldn’t correctly remember the poor fellow’s name, the man truly had jumped the gun. “They're lucky fellows, both of them.”

Jemma smiled, tugging his tie to bring his lips back to hers greedily. His growing discomfort was a sacrifice he was more than willing to make if it kept his lips pressed to hers. He shifted, a bit desperate to keep what muscles he did possess from cramping, feeling his watch slide slightly at his wrist, an unpleasant reminder that dealing with the prototype must come first and foremost.

Then he would just have to hope that she had as much interest in continuing their pleasant interlude outside of these close quarters.

“Nine forty five.” He sighed, gesturing to the watch at his wrist and lumbering back up off of his aching knees. “Second round coming up.”

Pouting slightly, she nodded as she kneeled on the ground beside him.

He snuck one final kiss. “Just marking my place. Don't go away.”

Jemma smirked as he exited the door, assembling the boomerang. She wasn’t sure it was possible to be even more anxious than she had for the first go around of the false alarm, but by the way her stomach roiled, it was entirely possible. Now, she had something to lose, more than just herself and her freedom at risk. There was Fitz and their burgeoning relationship.

He truly was clever, perhaps even as clever as she was. What’s more, he treated her better than any man that she had ever known. But that loveliness was precisely what made the risk all that much more terrifying.

She had to try to focus on the positives, on what would help them both get out of this mess safely. They definitely would need to scrub the closet free of any signs they had been present, so she applied herself to the task of scrubbing away the chalk lines.

All the while, distracting herself with contemplating a few hypotheses on how best to while away their remaining hours in this little closet, and on the prospect of repeatability of results when they were both back out in the regular world.


	8. Chapter 8

Fitz had far more luck in throwing this time around, snagging the boomerang and scrambling back to Jemma and the closet as fast as his legs would take him.

She snuggled up against him the moment he was seated and holding the door “locked”. They both listened from their little under stairs closet for signs that the guards had cleared their area. 

“Find him!” The guards shouted, their shoes echoing on the tile nearby. “Look around the back halls.”

He and Jemma had locked eyes and hands, waiting for the unbearable tension to pass so they could breath easy at least for a little while. It was subtle, easy even to miss in the near darkness, but for the fact that her hand was in his. She was trembling ever so slightly.

Fitz pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, whispering as much comfort as he could while keeping the door pulled tight. “Pretty soon, someone's going to get awfully tired of this racket.”

She smiled. “Normal human reaction, right?”

“Exactly.”

* * *

The guards grumbled as they filed back into their office, unsuccessful in finding any hint of an intruder and left only with the very clear conclusion that the lauded security equipment for high valued assets was little more than a glorified lighted pile of rubbish.

Doug and O’Brien had started back into their second game of the night, and Sam had opened up the refrigerator, rifling about for a snack. Billy sighed, settling down to write the second report when the phone started to ring.

“Billy Koenig speaking, Senior Guard at the Olympia.”

_“This is Prime Minister Wilson.”_

His jaw dropped, quite unprepared to hear the voice coming over the line. His silence must have been telling, as Doug and O’Brien watched him. He snapped his jaw shut, collecting himself. He was head guard. He could do this. Probably.

“At your service, Prime Minister!”

Even Sam turned around from the fridge at that. 

_“That alarm of yours is making a bloody racket. It’s woken up both the Missus and I.”_

“Yes, sir, I know it makes a terrible noise.” He gripped the phone cord, turning his hands paler white from the lack of blood flow. 

_“Is it even doing what it is installed to do?”_

“It was installed for just the purpose of security of high valued assets, sir.”

_“And have you caught anyone trying to steal? It seems a bloody waste to me--.”_

“I am quite sorry, sir. I didn't install it.”

_“--Especially with it waking us up twice now.”_

“Yes, sir, I know it is the second time tonight.”

_“And what exactly do you plan to do about it? Some of us need to be functional for work in the morning.”_

“I assure you, it will be rectified right away.” 

_“See that you do. Rest assured that I will be calling to speak with your Director in the morning.”_

“Of course, Prime Minister. Good night, Prime Minister.”

Billy set the phone back down on the receiver, trying to keep from shaking.

“Now guess who we woke up?” Billy grumbled in pure irritation. “Switch off the lights, Sam. I'm going to turn it off! Permanently!”

* * *

After the guards were back in their office and after their usual rotation had passed, Fitz risked another run outside to set off another false alarm. But he hadn’t quite expected that the lights would already be out.

He opened the door to the closet, still a bit stunned. “It worked. What do you know. They've turned off the A-B…”

Jemma poked her head out the door, to confirm it was off with her own eyes. “It did work!”

He stepped back inside the closet, holding the door open for her to follow. They’d still have some forty-some odd minutes before the cleaning crew would come in.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Didn't you expect it to be shut off?”

Fitz ran his hand over his face. “It was what I was hoping for, but I was relying on humans to react as you might expect. What if they hadn’t?”

Jemma frowned at him. “Pull yourself together, Fitz. You're a genius. You outsmarted the whole lot of them.”

“I know.” He whispered, reaching for her hand. “It's a pleasant feeling. But we’re not entirely in the clear quite yet.”

“No,” she breathed, running her fingers of her free hand through her hair self-consciously. “How exactly did you plan for us to get out of here with the prototype?”

Fitz rubbed his hands together. “You will need to wait until the moment of maximum confusion... and then start scrubbing like mad in the direction of the guards' room.”

“Guards' room?” Jemma paled, staring at him as if her were a madman. 

He nodded firmly. “That's right.”

“But the guards--!” She looked like she might be physically ill.

“Think about it.” Fitz whispered in hushed, but excitable tones. “When they see that the prototype is gone there will be guards everywhere--”

Her eyes brightened, and she finished his thought for him. “Except in the guards' room!”

He felt vaguely like floating, ridiculously calm in spite of the challenge still to come. 

She had wound her arms around his in a tight hug, until she went suddenly rigid. “But how will you get away?” 

Fitz chuckled. “This suit was chosen with the specific purpose to blend in.”

“Oh,” she grinned, fiddling with his tie. “So you didn’t just dress to impress me?”

“Did it work?” He smiled gleefully. “I have a friend who has bemoaned my lack of fashion sense for years. You have her to thank for that suit even existing in my closet.”

Jemma snuggled back into his arms. “Remind me to send her a thank you note.”

He buried his nose into her hair. They still had a few moments to spare, and he could think of no place better to spend the time than with her in this lovely little room. “I think she might like that.”

* * *

Hunter replaced the phone on the receiver with a grin. “Do you think they bought it?”

Bobbi raised a brow, wiping down the phone. “We can only hope. It really is in Fitz’s hands right now. For now, we need to get out of here and prepare to pull Fitz and Dr. Simmons out.”

Smirking, Hunter led Bobbi back down the hall. It really had been appallingly easy to enter in the side door. “I suppose we should tell the Director to step up the Prime Minister’s security.”

“I don’t know.” Bobbi smirked back as she crept up into the window frame, dropping her feet down onto the ledge below. “It’s always nice to do an easy mission from time to time.”

* * *

Jemma nestled against him in the near darkness, relishing whatever amount of serenity and time alone with Fitz their little closet would allow. They had already had everything packed, cleaned, and ready to move, they were just waiting for the best time to move to limit any potential problems.

She bit her lip, lacing her fingers with his. Assuming they both managed to escape this final leg of this escapade without incident, how on earth were they to continue on? Assuming Fitz even wanted to…

He noticed her hesitation, giving her hand a squeeze. “Are you ready? The cleaning staff should be here to clean in maybe 10 minutes, so we need to get into position.”

“As ready as I can be,” she murmured.

Fitz pushed himself up onto his feet with his free hand, bringing her along with him. But he made no move to let go of her hand. It was encouraging to say the least.

Tugging off the tape that had blocked the locking mechanism on the door, he pulled her into the bottom part of the stairwell behind the closet where the fire station equipment was kept. He grabbed the key and locked the door with an air of finality.

He took the bucket and placed it into her hands, then snorted when he spotted the nearly full bottle of alcohol tucked into it. “You hang on to the bucket and stay here.” He grabbed the bottle, tucked it into his suit pocket and turned towards the exhibit, before thinking better of it and leaning back to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll be right back with the prototype, and then we’ll both need to move into our hiding places quickly.”

Jemma nodded and watched him go.

 

Moving with deliberate caution, Fitz crept over to the display, wincing against a possible fail safe as he reached in to grab the prototype with both hands. He pulled it back, cushioning against his stomach as he pulled the bottle from his pocket, setting it into the vacant display space.

He allowed himself a small moment of victory to smirk at his work before returning the prototype to Jemma with all haste.

She looked close to joyful tears as he wrapped the prototype in rags and lowered it gently into the bucket. Truly he understood; the weight of potential illness or -- in the worst case scenario, loss of life -- had clearly weighed heavily on her conscience. But she looked at him as if he had lassoed the moon, when in reality, all of this had been far more mundane than anything he’d seen Bobbi and Hunter do. 

There just had not been the time to truly do the job justice. Thank Bobbi and Hunter for their periodic mission recaps and tips for letting him realize what avenues he could use to best advantage in getting her prototype (and them) out safely. It was just too bad that they could never know.

As she finished settling the prototype safely and securely into her bucket, Jemma leveled her shoulders. “Now, when the cleaning crew comes in, I scrub and move towards the guard’s room as quickly as I can.”

Fitz scratched his 11 o’clock shadow, considering. “It would probably be better for you to stay hidden and linger around this corner until the guards notice it is gone, unless you see that the cleaning staff is all otherwise occupied.”

She gave him a questioning glance. “I'm perfectly capable, Fitz.”

“I know that. It is just,” he sighed, trying to find the right words. “We don’t know how well they might know each other, and you don't need to take any unnecessary risks.”

“Fitz.”

When he looked back, she tilted her head, watching him with some odd mix of emotions he unfortunately did not have the time to attempt to define. But for the moment that no longer mattered, certainly not when she pressed her lips back to his, letting only her hold on the bucket of precious cargo come between them.

“You be careful, too.” Jemma bit her lip. “I couldn’t bear it if--”

Fitz cut her off with another brief kiss.. He did want to hear what she had to say, but they were nearly out of time. “I will.”

With a hesitant smile, she nodded and moved towards her hiding space.

“Good luck.” He whispered to her retreating form.

* * *

Jemma stifled a groan of protest at her aching muscles as she slid down the wall, watching as Fitz disappeared down the hallway. She didn’t have much time to worry before the cleaning women -- nearly ten in all -- entered the halls, toting buckets and brushes in hand. Chattering loudly, they each moved, some in pairs, in different directions.

As a pair of women passed her section and moved around the corner, she ducked out of her hiding place, desperately scrubbing the floor and backing inch by inch over towards the guard’s room. She couldn’t help but peek over her shoulder anxiously, back towards their door, before kicking herself and moving her focus back down to the floor.

Jemma breathed. She was incredibly lucky. There were two women who seemed to be cleaning back in the same direction as she, slowly backing down towards the guard’s room on the other side of the hallway. They would probably distract the guards first when they came out to do their rounds.

She stifled a gasp when the light caught her fairly gaudy ring. Desperately, she tugged it from her finger, tossing it into her bucket and hiding the bloody thing under the rags with the prototype. She absolutely could not afford drawing any extra attention to herself at the moment.

She just got the rags re-settled as the guards emerged from their office. The two other women nearby huffed, as one of the guards tramped right through their nice clean floor.

“What a night we've had!” Billy exclaimed sitting down on the steps right beside the prototype exhibit. His tie had been loosened, but his lanyard still proudly announced his status to the assembled cleaning women. “One alarm after another. And telephone calls from everybody. Who do you think called from across the street?”

“Who?” One of the cleaning women asked politely.

Billy whispered his reply. “The Prime Minister!”

The older Asian woman barely raised a brow, but the other woman -- who quite honestly could not be described as pretty or feminine, despite her rather jaunty red hat and blue coat -- awarded him with the reaction he’d been expecting.

* * *

Jemma could see the guard’s room from where she was scrubbing, pulling the dust and dirt from behind one display case. She was gearing up to move down even a bit further, when another guard emerged from the office.

Anxious, she turned around. It was honestly quite shocking that no one had noticed that the prototype was missing yet. Her stomach was quite audibly protesting the sheer amount of stress she had been tolerating.

She subtly watched the new guard walk back towards the display and stop, transfixed. 

Her eyes wide, Jemma clenched her fists and started scrubbing faster than ever before.

* * *

“Don't stand there gaping, Sam.” Billy shouted. “Get to your post, man!”

Sam just blinked, pointing a shaking finger at the display.

With an audible sigh, Billy looked, then was utterly dumbfounded. “Ah.” Pressing his lips together, it took far too many moments to find his voice again, as breathless as he was.

“ALARM!”

Billy tore off back to the guard’s office while the cleaning women looked up from their work. They were still cleaning, but at least now had something far more interesting to to talk about.

“ROBBERS!” He threw open the door of the room, physically pulling the other guards out. “CROOKS!”

The men dashed out on the floor and to their hallways post-haste. 

Billy gave himself a spare moment to breathe, but the damage was already done. 

Then -- and only then -- the wretched thought occurred. “THE ALARM!”

He dashed to turn it back on.

* * *

The guards scrambled out on the floor, one even slipping in the soapy cleaning water still out on the floor.

Jemma kept scrubbing, but noticed most if not all of the other women were engrossed in watching the guards dash about and helping those that fell back up off the floor.

She moved over to the side to sit and watch, hoping that no one would take notice of the slightly odd color of her bucket. Tired, she sat down atop the bucket, strategically balancing, careful to pretend it bore her whole weight. She was waiting for the one last guard who had dashed back to office earlier.

A ruckus arose back out around the display as the security lights around the display suddenly came back on, and the final guard came running back out.

Once he had passed, Jemma moved over to the wall closest to the guard’s room, cleaning up the woodwork. She darted one last glance out onto the floor to see a few of the other cleaning women send guards down some of the side hallways and then opened the door.

Kneeling on the floor, she feigned scrubbing, moving right into the back hallway that held the guard’s room. 

She drew a breath, continuing to scrub her way back into the room and was startled to hear a chair scrape back across the floor.

Had she miscounted? Perhaps if she kept scrubbing, she could pretend she was new and play on any of the guard’s sympathies.

She fought the temptation to scream, until she heard him say, “Jemma.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” she breathed. “Fitz!”

He had gathered her up in a hug, tugging her entirely into the room and out of the little hallway.

Burying herself into his arms, she held her bucket behind his back and kissed him until they were both breathless.

* * *

Billy dragged his hand across his face. This was entirely unbelievable. Of course, it had happened under his watch. But the equipment was clearly defective.

Frowning, his eyes fell back on the bottle. “Sam, get that silly bottle out of there.”

Sam, deciding to be helpful for perhaps the first time in his life, obliged, grabbing the bottle and setting off the alarm.

Billy rolled his eyes, and grabbed the bottle as he stalked off to meet the police who would be inbound for the third time tonight.

* * *

As the alarm started again, Fitz pulled Jemma and all of their belongings to the guard’s staircase, winding their way around and out the back alley to avoid the police that would arrive around front.

He was momentarily anxious about their escape as he didn’t expect the alarm to go off again and call in the police quite so quickly. They shuffled down the street quickly, but not too quickly lest someone grow suspicious.

He could hardly believe their luck when he managed to flag down a taxi just outside the alley. 

It was almost as if it had been waiting just for him. 

Furtively, the cab driver tugged at his hat. “Where to, lad?”


	9. Chapter 9

“So, we are out not only the technology, but the full value of the prototype.”

“Yes, Mr. Malick. The exhibition hall Director contacted me at home first thing this morning.” Mr. Simmons grimaced into the phone, slamming his head back into his office chair. He was all too glad the formidable man was a whole ocean away. “The insurance company required proof of function to enact the policy and that had been scheduled for today.”

“I find that to be particularly fascinating.” Malick mused. “Clearly someone found a good deal of value in that design to snatch it out from under our noses.”

Mr. Simmons sighed, daring to hope that they might all be off the proverbial hook. “Of course, the Iliad acquisition deal will still go through without a hitch, in spite of all of this.”

“That is good, of course,” Malick conceded, before regaining the upper hand. “But the board will expect you to turn over any and all design materials to keep progress moving forward on our primary mission. We will need to allocate our best scientists to developing it.”

Mr. Simmons pressed his fingers to his throbbing temples. Jemma would be livid if she ever heard. “Will you also need the scientists to come over and work on development?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Malick chuckled. “We keep only the best and the brightest minds on payroll around here.”

Mr. Simmons dared to breathe.

“And where we don’t”, Malick continued, “we have the proper incentives in place to push the chess pieces where we need them to go.” 

Mr. Simmons could only hope that Malick hadn’t heard him gulp.

* * *

“I just heard the news,” Mr. Daniels cheered as he entered the private investigator’s office. “I couldn't believe my ears or my eyes. Absolutely fantastic! To pull off a thing like that!”

The PI gave a forced smile, not entirely sure what to make of his client. “I can guarantee that the police are investigating.”

“The police?” Daniels chuckled. “Man, where's your spirit? If we wait for the police... the prototype will be out of the country! We'll never set eyes on it again.”

The PI leaned back at his chair, it was clients like these that were doing nothing to help his receding hairline. “That is the nature of these things, Mr. Daniels.”

Daniels frowned. “Mr. Coulson, let me be clear. I'm still vitally interested in the prototype, hot or cold. Do you know what I mean by that?”

Phil steepled his hands over his desk. “Let me be equally clear. In insisting on doing this, you would be compounding a felony. Offering to become a receiver of stolen goods.”

“It’s for the benefit of mankind, Mr. Coulson. That battery seems to be almost everything we need to handle key system backups and put humans being into space.” Will paced in front of his desk. “As a public service, I just want to make an independent inquiry to help the police. Is that a crime? 

Coulson narrowed his eyes. “And if you find it, a step ahead of the police? 

Daniels grinned widely. “You let me worry about that. 

Coulson stood and pressed his hand against the desk. “You realize you’re asking me to put my very credentials on the line. We’ve worked in good standing with law enforcement for some time now.”

“Alright, Mr. Coulson.” Daniels waved his hands, placating him. “All I need is an opening contact?”

Phil closed his eyes. This was definitely the last time he let Rosalind refer clients to him. “All right. There happens to be a man in London at the moment...an engineer who we work with from time to time on investigations. His name is…”

Pencil in hand, Will appeared almost over-eager to get the information.

Coulson rolled his eyes. “No, Mr. Daniels, please! Think of what you're trying to do. What about this girl you just got engaged to, this Jemma Simmons?”

“I want both.”

Coulson slanted an incredulous glare until Daniels backed down. “You realize that might not be a possibility, don’t you?”

Will sighed. “All right. The name!”

“The name is Leopold Fitz.,” Phil offered. “He is staying at the Ritz.”

* * *

”How are you? Did you sleep well?” Fitz smiled as he lay in bed, cradling the telephone to his ear. 

 

“Oh, Fitz!” He could practically hear the smile in her voice. “Isn't it too awful? I slept like a baby! And I've just eaten an enormous breakfast. Isn't it ghastly? 

“It's your bad girl nature.”

Jemma grinned. “Did you end up getting everything situated last night?”

“Yes.” Fitz assured. “Everything is safe and sound.”

Jemma found herself biting her lip, the litany of doubts that had only started last night began to rear their ugly heads. “Do you think we should be seen together?”

Fitz paused, uncertain. “Honestly, I’m not sure that it is wise. It will be fairly risky until everything really settles down.”

She frowned. Maybe he was really glad to be able to cut ties and--

“But it is a risk I am willing to take.”

Jemma gaped a moment before she allowed the smile to take over. That lovely man. “All right. Shall we meet in an hour at the Ritz bar?”

* * *

Mr. Simmons knocked on his daughter’s door. “Jemma, I’m afraid I have a bit of bad news.”

Jemma popped her head out. “I’m nearly done getting ready. I suppose you can come in.”

“My dear…” he began, a bit stymied. How was he supposed to tell his daughter that her work that he had acquired for his company had been stolen? Surely there was some sort of etiquette for this sort of thing.

“Oh. Is this about the prototype?” She prompted, her eyes a bit wide as she worked to put her hair into place. “I did see see a headline in this morning’s paper about a theft at the exhibition hall when I sat down to breakfast earlier this morning.”

“Yes.” He sighed. There was no real way around it. “It seems that the exhibition hall’s security measures were lax and that our prototype was stolen last night.”

“I--” Jemma frowned, her eyes narrowed tightly. “I’m not sure I understand. When I visited a few days ago, Mr. Koenig showed me, in far too great detail, all the added precautions they had taken just to ensure its safety.”

He sat down in the chair in front of her desk. “Apparently all that was not nearly enough against some very ruthless criminals. What is more, corporate is asking me to provide them with all the related materials for safe-keeping. It would help me tremendously if you had any other notes lying about so we could replicate your previous work.”

Jemma sighed. “I suppose I can look about later. But not right away. I have a very important appointment at the Ritz.”

He sat, still dazed as she pecked a kiss to his forehead and darted off down the hall. “The Ritz? Again?”

* * *

”You realize what you're asking is extremely difficult and dangerous?”

“Yes, I know that, Mr. Fitz.” Will leaned back, looking suspiciously at any one who so much as neared their booth. He was far too lucky that Mr. Fitz could meet him this early in the morning.

Mr. Fitz narrowed his eyes in censure. “Please, no names. We may be up against some very desperate characters...” He paused dramatically, allowing Daniels to fill in the blanks for himself.

Will’s eyes widened, stunned. “Them?” 

Fitz nodded. “Those.”

Will could hardly ask how Mr. Fitz knew about the Council, but there were few other groups as powerful or as ruthless, even with the organized crime groups in play...

“Fortunately, I've a few contacts.” Fitz leaned in conspiratorially. “In fact, this morning...I made a few inquiries, you know, put out a few feelers. Just idle curiosity. 

Will smiled. “You've got a lead?”

Fitz nodded, looking a bit aimlessly in the air. “Too early for anything concrete. Let's just say I suspect who was involved.”

“Is it, you know, what we're talking about, is it still in England?” Will gripped the table. It was actually going to happen. He would get the battery -- and the credit -- for a tremendous accomplishment in what would bringing the team of astronauts to the moon.

“I think so. I think I can definitely state it's still in England.” Fitz took a sip of his drink. “You do realize that you might be paying a great deal of money...for something you could never use, acknowledge, or even display in any public location?”

“Yes, I know,” Will acknowledged. “But I need it!”

Mr. Fitz eyed him suspiciously. “Just one more thing. Do you happen to have any connection to any member of the Simmons family? Mr. Simmons was the driving force behind its display in the Olympia after all.”

“I've met Simmons,” Will confirmed. “I know his daughter, too. As a matter of fact, I'm going to see her tonight.”

Fitz shook his head vehemently. “Drop her! Don't see her. Don't even telephone her. That's vital! Any contact with any member of the Simmons family would be reckless. The criminals would suspect a trap.”

Shocked, Will gaped. “But we're engaged.”

Fitz started, eyeing him with a strange smile. “You know, you're a lucky fellow. From what I hear, she's an enchanting girl. What the hell! The world's full of batteries. Forget the prototype. The technology will probably catch up in another decade or two.”

Will winced. That time frame absolutely wouldn't do. “No! Listen! I'll do anything you say. I'll call it off with her, I give you my word.”

Mr. Fitz sat back in his seat, mostly mollified. “I'll contact you later in the day.”

“All right. You'll contact me.” Will smiled, extending his hand for them to shake on it. “Thanks.”

“Sit tight,” Mr. Fitz instructed as he departed the table. “Wait for the call.”

“Right.”

Will’s mind was reeling as he walked over to the door. He’d need to delay his travel arrangements until at least later that evening.

But finally everything was falling into place. He smiled. But the terror grew in his eyes as he spotted the one person that could bring it all crumbling down.

* * *

”Fitz?” Jemma inquired as she scooted into the booth beside him. “Do I look alright? 

“You look fine.” Desperately, Fitz tried to mask his smirk. “Why do you ask?”

She frowned, mercifully still staring at the door. “I just met this fellow, and he treated me like I was a leper or something. I just wanted to give him back the ring.”

She placed the ring box on the table and Fitz flicked it open to look inside, before tucking the box back into her purse. “Really? That seems like a particularly odd reaction. Why don’t we have a drink? Good for morale.”

“Well. I had thought to have tea, but I could be persuaded into a glass of champagne to celebrate,” she grinned, before her smile slid away slightly. “I mean you can't celebrate a crime. That's immoral.”

He sat, amused as she struggled with just how exactly to handle the unusual circumstance in which they both found themselves.

“You handle it,” she added finally. “It's too confusing.”

“A bottle of champagne, please,” he requested of the server.

When the waiter had moved far enough from the table, she turned back to Fitz, smiling ear to ear and slipping her hand into his. “We did it! Did you see the papers and the television? Did you hear the radio? It's the crime of the century, practically. And we did it! You were the brain behind planning it all, but I was of some help. I mean, we worked well together, considering it was our first job.”

Worrying his lip, Fitz was torn between watching the delightful animation of her face, and anxiously looking for some sign that a nearby diner was listening in. He squeezed her hand. “Calm down.”

“I know I shouldn't carry on so.” She blushed slightly, fidgeting and taking a sip of the water the server had brought over to them. “It's all in a day's work for you, but it's my first burglary.”

Fitz let his eyes trail away, scratching at the trace of stubble already re-forming along his jaw. “Mine, too.”

“Bringing it off the way we--” she halted, staring at him intently. “--did. What?”

His eyes locked again with hers. “My first burglary.”

She was shocked, aghast. “Then what were you doing in our house that night?”

Fitz gripped the table, mentally preparing himself to answer the question he knew would be coming all along. “You're sure you want to know?”

“N--” Jemma stilled, meeting his eyes and stealing herself. She had seen and learned enough to handle this, surely. Besides, it was far more important to know and understand what he actually was, especially if he was willing to trust her with what must have been secret. “Yes.”

Fitz took a breath. “I'm a scientist for an International Spy Agency, the SSR. I have a PhD and a few lesser degrees in multiple types of Engineering. I make and reverse engineer items of concern for vulnerabilities.”

“You're all of that?” Jemma whispered. “Then you're not a burglar? And you didn’t bother to correct me when I kept calling you ‘Mr. Fitz’?”

“I much prefer plain old Fitz, to be honest.” He smirked, lacing their fingers together on the table. “I was in the field for the first time, acting on actionable intelligence that Roxxon intended to put the prototype--your prototype--to questionable purpose...when you loomed up in your nightgown and shot me in the arm.”

Jemma sat still, stunned.

He squeezed her hand again, offering what limited comfort he could, a bit stunned himself to see his Director walk in the door.

“Fitz.” 

Fitz blinked, then nodded back at his boss.

Coulson spoke, offering Jemma his hand in greeting. “I don't believe we've met, Dr. Simmons. May I please join you?”

Jemma blinked, shaking herself out of her shock. “By all means.”

The server appeared with another glass, as Coulson slid to the other side of the booth.

“I’ve come today prepared to offer you a job, Dr. Simmons. It seems you and Fitz collaborate quite well, despite my team's best efforts at protection, and you both carried off a successful mission on your own.”

Fitz frowned. “What best efforts?”

Coulson grinned. “Even after you tried to dodge Bobbi and Hunter, you had a little bit of help. Bobbi and Hunter infiltrated a few high powered buildings and placed calls to the guards. And Daisy and May were with me last night among the cleaning staff.”

Jemma blinked. “I could swear they were all women…” 

Coulson smiled cryptically. “Were they?”

Fitz and Jemma gaped in unison. “So what was all this?”

Coulson rapped his fingers on the table. “A recruitment effort. The threat you uncovered was very real, Dr. Simmons, but was only part of the problem. Our team is very clever, but our communications technology does have its limitations. We need more team members who can think and analyze on their feet. Our scientific assets have to be doubly capable. Director Carter’s orders.”

Jemma tilted her head. “So this is…?”

“A job offer, certainly.” Coulson templed his hands. “But you and Fitz collaborated well enough in the field that working with your expertise might allow for some excellent improvements in our technological capabilities.”

Jemma looked at Fitz. “Did you know?”

“No.” Fitz shook his head, dumbfounded. “But his suggestion is not without merit, if you were interested. Just the capability potential from your one design would open so many doors. Imagine what we might be able to do on a daily basis.”

Jemma was smiling sunnily.

“Besides,” Fitz offered, fiddling with his hands anxiously. “I’d be interested to see what ideas you might have on handling my hardware--”

As Jemma’s eyebrows rose to her hairline, Fitz realized how awkward that sounded, amending, “My equipment---I mean, my technical assets that we already have in place.”

“On that note,” Coulson grinned, draining the rest of his drink, “I think it is time for me to depart. My offer stands so long as you are interested, Dr. Simmons.”

With a polite cough, Jemma smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

Mr. Simmons frowned at the scene from his table in the corner. He watched as the thin, older man shook his daughter’s hand and left the table, leaving her alone with the younger man.

He narrowed his eyes at the young man, as he dared to reach out and grab his daughter’s hand. “Blue eyes, clever, quite good-looking. I seem to recall her mentioning something to that effect,” he muttered to himself. 

Setting his jaw, Mr. Simmons drained the dregs of his drink, ready to storm over and put a halt to that.

Until he saw the smile on his daughter’s face.

Brows raised, he sat back in his chair in stunned silence. They would definitely need to have a chat about this, and to hash out final details for turning over the prototype designs to Malick. But, he supposed as he watched Jemma’s eyes sparkle in a way they hadn’t since she was a young girl, it could always wait until tomorrow.

* * *

Jemma beamed as Mr. Coulson left the table, rounding back on a very stunned Fitz. It really was entertaining how much he blushed when he managed to put his entire foot into his mouth. He was busy, frantically rooting around with back side of his tie, until he found a round disc sized chunk of metal.

Grimacing, he held out his hand to her, the disc in his palm and mouthing, “This is how he found us.”

She took his hand -- and the disc -- quite readily. She left her hand in Fitz’s, while examining the disc from all angles with her free hand. It was fascinating that they had managed to make the size so small. Mouthing back, “A bug?”

When he nodded, she smiled even more broadly. If she had any doubts before about going to work with Fitz, this truly allayed it. She handed the disc back to him, impressed. “Your work, I assume?”

He blushed even more brightly, as he grabbed it back and dropped it with a fizzling plunk into his glass of water. A thin trail of smoke chased it up to the ceiling.

Her brows furrowed, but Jemma continued to smile back at him.

Fitz shrugged. “I figured you might like to continue the conversation without any other uninvited guests.”

In response, Jemma leaned in closer to him, squeezing his hand. “How did you plan to get rid of, you know, _it_?”

Fitz fidgeted slightly. “I’d honestly like to keep it here, but in light of any possible investigations, it is best to send it as far away as possible.”

Jemma frowned, but nodded.

“I think I found a pretty worthy cause -- and someone to take it off my hands.” Fitz admitted, stealing a glance at his watch. “Unfortunately, I’ll need to get moving to get it to the airport to handle that shortly.”

Her face fell slightly. “And I need to consider Mr. Coulson’s rather generous offer.”

“I do hope you are interested.” Fitz smiled shyly. “They haven’t been able to hire a lab partner who could keep up with me, but considering your designs...”

Jemma laughed, her eyes wide and glowing. “I think I might be up to the challenge.”

Fitz’s lips parted in awe. “You’re really interested?”

“Of course!” She beamed before leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. 

He stood awkwardly, licking his lips and frowning at his watch. “I really do have to go to deal with this now. Where would you like to meet later?”

“If you like, you could pick me up at home.” She tilted her head, waiting for his full attention. “It might be nice to take a tour of your lab before I give my final decision.”

He grinned back at her. “How does two in the afternoon sound?”

“It sound lovely,” she murmured without hesitation.

He pressed a few pound notes to the table and with a dazzling smile he dashed off down the hall.

Jemma needed a moment to catch her breath, a bit dazed at this whole turn of events. She flagged down the waiter to pay the bill, knocking open the ring box.

She gasped, barely able to clamp her hands over her mouth in time. The now empty box tumbled out of her purse and sat open on the table. 

* * *

Will marched side by side with Mr. Fitz, carrying the overlarge wooden box clearly marked as FRAGILE. Not one to take any chances, he had hired out a whole small aircraft to carry him back across the pond, and head directly south to headquarters with the asset.

“Key!” Fitz tapped the metal against the box, shouting over the roar of the engine as he handed over the box to Daniels at base of the steps.

“You've done a wonderful job!” Mr. Daniels shouted back, pulling his billfold out of his jacket pocket. “You sure you don't want any money?”

“Shhh!” Fitz hushed him, pushing the billfold firmly away. “You will be contacted. Don't worry if it's not in the near future.”

“Right!” Will nodded.

Fitz leaning closer to shout details into the other man’s ear. “The code word will be ‘togetherness.’”

“‘Togetherness’." He grinned. “I got it.”

Fitz shook Daniel’s hand. “Happy landings!”

Will punched in the air, victoriously, before playfully punching Fitz in the shoulder. “The same to you! ‘Togetherness!’”

Will beamed as he wound his way back into his seat, and then further back to the bathroom. He was anxious to confirm that the prototype was truly in his hands. Piece by piece, he removed the bit of newsprint that helped hold the box safely in place.

Sure enough, the battery was in there, complete with detailed instructions for the safe preparation and installment of electrolyte fluid.

But that was not the only surprise in the box. Tied to the instruction card with a red ribbon was the ring that he had given to Miss Simmons.

* * *

Fitz stopped back briefly at his hotel before heading back into to the office. He quickly changed his clothes and grabbed a small box from his dresser, before hurrying out of the door.

He still had a few hours before he was due to pick up Jemma from her house. He needed to tell Coulson that Jemma would be on premises for a quick tour. But she would need to confirm whether or not she would formally sign on.

He peeled out of the driveway, weaving through busy streets and into the garage near their office building. He pocketed his car keys as he jogged the rest of the way to the office. 

He might only have a precious few hours in the lab before he had some hopefully permanent company. And he would need every minute to finish what he had planned first. 

Of course, Fitz knew he’d never have that sort of luck.

“Congratulations!” Daisy shouted. She half-tackled him as he walked in the door. “I knew you could manage it.”

“Thanks.” Fitz shuffled a bit awkwardly under the attention. Both Bobbi and May were occupied going through files in the first office, inside the secure doors. “When did you all get back from your mission?”

“Yesterday afternoon.” Daisy smirked. “Just in time to hear that you made a lady friend.”

Fitz slanted a dark look at Bobbi. 

Bobbi just shrugged. “You did make a lady friend -- a scientist, too -- who needed your help. Coulson just decided to kill two birds with one stone.”

Fitz frowned. “And how did you--?”

“Figure out your plan?” Bobbi grinned. “You think like we do. You’ve been around this office long enough to learn from our missions. It wasn’t so difficult to chase that logic backwards.”

Daisy hugged Fitz’s shoulder, smirking. “We had figured out about 90% of it. Just not that sneaky detail that you cloistered yourself in the closet with this same lady scientist for several hours.”

Fitz blushed, wriggling his arm loose of Daisy’s hold. “I need to get back to the lab for a bit.”

Bobbi smiled. “You can have a brief reprieve for now, we’ve all been actively cleaning up anything that might lead back to either of you. But fair warning: I’m sure Hunter will be asking after all the details later.”

Fitz’s eyes raised to the ceiling. “That will be a bit awkward.”

“And why is that?” Bobbi pressed.

“Coulson offered Dr. Simmons a job.” Fitz countered, a bit exasperated. He checked his watch anxiously. “I needed to catch him in in office to confirm that she could be cleared for a tour of the laboratory facilities later this afternoon.”

Daisy grinned widely, speeding off towards the door. “I’ll let Coulson know.”

“Did you have somewhere you needed to be, Fitz?” May spoke up from her characteristic silence.

Fitz shrugged. “I thought I might try to clean up the lab a bit before she comes in.”

Bobbi and May smiled at each other.

Fitz sighed. He was sure he’d catch hell for it later, but for now, he was a man on a mission.

* * *

Fitz had toiled for about two hours in the lab, before he appeared back in the main room.

Coulson had easily green lit Jemma’s tour request, so now he just needed to pick her up, and hopefully grab a bite to eat first.

Bobbi and May were still hard at work, combing through pile after pile of files with ruthless efficiency. “Bobbi, could you--?”

She smiled, but didn’t bother to look up. “Consider Hunter taken care of.”

But May was watching him with a frown.

He fished his keys from his pocket. “I’d better go, so I’m not late to pick Dr. Simmons up. We should be back around quarter past two for the tour.”

* * *

May furrowed her brows as she watched Fitz leave. He had been suspicious when he walked in today. Maybe Bobbi was quick to overlook it as she had seen him frazzled with the girl involved. But if she saw what she thought she saw...

Silent and resolute, she stood up and marched back to the lab. What she saw there -- or really, did not see -- made her smile.

“Bobbi,” she announced as she returned to the office. “I’m going to need a hand.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jemma tried not to appear too eager as she buckled herself into the passenger seat. The sheer possibility of a lab with resources, with the prospect of truly equal credit, was some sort of dream opportunity. And Fitz had already proven himself a lovely partner -- even in the most stressful situations. The tour would allow her to confirm for herself the true scope of Fitz’s abilities. She needed to know that this wasn’t all just some sort of wonderful dream.

She could hardly sit still after arriving back at the house. She struggled to apply herself productively. If she liked what she saw, she would sign over whatever was necessary to end her obligations to Roxxon and Iliad. She and Fitz could probably manage to surpass any design nuances that might be subject to patent.

But even more than that, she had felt his absence quite acutely back at the house. It was funny, really, how much being in those close quarters and placing absolute trust in someone else for your well being had shifted her whole perspective. She felt at once the same and utterly changed by the experience and by him. Scientifically, she was encouraged in a way she hadn’t dared to feel since impressing her professors and peers in college.

In terms of their budding relationship, she did not even attempt to put a name to it. It was all too precious and new. It might yet be altered in the continued light of day, or by their potential new working relationship. Things were encouraging and lovely with Fitz during their morning meeting, but it hadn’t even been twenty four hours yet. 

She had to persistently remind herself to be pragmatic, which was not something she very easily forgot to do.

“You’ll have to forgive me for being a little late,” he apologized, while scraping the last of a few stray crumbs from his tie. “I was so busy getting everything ready for your tour that I lost track of time and needed to grab a quick sandwich.”

She smiled, leaning across the gear shift to brush a crumb her had missed. Perhaps he really was just as eager as she was. “It is not a problem. I’m just very anxious to see your lab myself.”

He beamed back at her, starting up the engine. “Then let’s get moving.”

* * *

Fitz tried not to groan as the entirety of the office had piled into the tiny entrance room to get a glimpse of their new fellow employee. Even May had come out of her back office. Fitz had no doubt that between Hunter and Daisy, not a single person did not know how they both had spent the last evening.

Jemma looked a bit shocked. Clearly this was not the type of reception she was used to getting.

Bobbi grinned. “So nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve been wondering ever since you handed Hunter the note that he couldn’t pronounce.”

Hunter frowned. “Oi.”

“Oh,” Jemma’s eyes widened, clearly putting the mental pieces together. “It’s you!”

“Alright,” Coulson ordered, smirking. “Everybody else back to work. You’ll all get to meet Doctor Simmons after she is impressed by the facility tour.”

Fitz grabbed her hand as Coulson gestured for them to follow.

* * *

Whatever Jemma had been expecting of the tiny building from the outside, paled in comparison to the real thing. The facilities were surprisingly large with a honeycomb of offices on floors that reached down into at least one sub-basement level. Fitz had walked next to her for the entire duration of the tour, letting go of her hand only momentarily to grab her a lab coat and goggles.

“And this,” Coulson held open the final door on their tour, “is where you will be working, should you decide to join us.”

Jemma just gaped. The lab itself was probably the largest she had ever seen and some of the equipment must not have hit the shelves yet, it was so top-of-the-line. Clearly this was a well funded operation!

Fitz tugged her forward, methodically bringing her to each piece of equipment and answering every question she could think of. There wasn’t much missing, but even Coulson was quick to assure her that, with adequate proof of need, additional assets could be acquired.

Fitz squeezed her hand anxiously. “What do you think?”

Jemma’s face lit up. “It’s lovely! Honestly, I’m anxious to start...although I’m not sure what information on the prototype I will still need to hand over to my former employer before I can possibly begin.”

“You will make an excellent addition to the team,” Coulson smiled. “I’ll meet with Agent May to see what extra paperwork might need to be drawn up. Fitz, if you could keep her occupied here for a short while, I’ll be right back down to start the process.” 

Jemma just nodded, smiling widely. All of this really was too lovely to take in.

* * *

May looked up as Coulson walked into her office. “We’ll need to add an extra bit of paperwork to her file for a seamless non-disclosure transition, but I expect that Dr. Simmons will be a tremendous asset.”

“Your little experiment might have had some unintended consequences,” May offered sagely as she dug out the appropriate forms from the filing cabinet. “I suspect you’ll have at least one more problem than you’re counting on.”

Coulson frowned, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh?”

“Dr. Simmons hasn’t signed anything with you yet,” she explained, smiled slightly as she continued to rout through the drawers. It had to be around her somewhere. “So, she doesn’t know about the anti-fraternization clause.”

Coulson quirked a brow. “Oh.”

“But,” May added. “I’m reasonably sure Fitz does.”

Coulson chuckled. “You really think…?”

“Yes.” May nodded. “But I wanted to find you an exception form to sign off on just in case he doesn’t ask.”

* * *

Fitz fiddled anxiously with the box in his coat pocket. Why was it that this was suddenly more terrifying than all the anxiety he’d had over the prospect of getting caught?

‘ _Because_ ,’ his traitorous brain whispered, _‘she might say no. And then all of this opportunity to work together might grow strained and awkward._ ’

“So,” He grimaced, feeling his palms grow sweaty. “What do you think you’ll need to hand over first before you can transfer?”

He pulled his hand back, walking over to the sink to wash them and try, desperately to cool his head. Coulson would only give him so long to be alone with her until he’d be back with a stack of paperwork.

Jemma frowned at him across the room, fiddling with her fingers. “I’m not really sure. The details of the design certainly. Though I’d almost rather the guidance came from the company and not my father.”

Fitz dried his hands on the towel. “I’m pretty sure Coulson will take care of that.”

“I just--” she hedged. “I don’t want things to be awkward with my father. But he did put me in a rather bad position here.” 

“And here…” Fitz gulped. “Will it be awkward for you to work here?”

Jemma chuckled nervously. “Everyone has already been quite lovely.”

“I meant--” he breathed, clenching his fists. “I meant here in the lab. With me.”

“Oh, no.” She smiled reassuringly, closing the gap between them a bit. “I rather like the idea, honestly.”

Fitz held the box in his jacket pocket, brushing his thumb over the ancient, now familiar filigree. Willing himself to work up the courage. His lips curved slowly upwards. “I'm very glad to hear it.”

Jemma reached out and grabbed his hand, looking more than a bit concerned. 

Coulson noisily re-entered the lab then with a stack of paperwork and May in tow, and they jumped apart guiltily. May only quirked a brow as she watched Jemma move. 

“So,” Coulson started, eyes darting back and forth between his current and -- he hoped -- future employee. Both of them were looking quite studiously at him. “We can start the paperwork, Dr. Simmons. But legal said it would be best to wait to formalize things. So, we can initiate the clearance process, but that will take a few weeks at least.” 

He set the papers on the desk, indicating the short stack that she could sign, initial, and date. Dr. Simmons started to read through the handful of pages carefully, before working to sign her way through.

May held a second set of papers, which she handed to Fitz. “Meanwhile, Dr. Fitz, your vacation request approval has finally come through from headquarters.”

“Oh,” he whispered.

Coulson smiled. “It actually came through a few days ago, but you were taking sick time.”

May smiled briefly as Fitz had the grace to blush. She knew Coulson couldn’t quite resist the urge to give poor Fitz a hard time, even though the protection detail was an easy thing -- once they had intel from Bobbi that it was necessary. But a little would go a long way here. “Just let us know the exact days you’ll be taking, since the approval arrived a bit late.”

Fitz nodded. “Thanks, Agent May.”

May looked pointedly at Coulson, until he cleared his throat. “Actually, Agent Fitz. Considering you ended up pulling unexpected mission hours last night, you can take the rest of the day off and rest up.”

Dr. Simmons smiled cheerfully at Fitz, who looked frankly surprised at the offer.

“Fitz?”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.” Fitz nodded, as if finally waking up from a stupor and set about collecting his things. “Thank you.”

Coulson smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind escorting Dr. Simmons on your way out?”

Fitz smiled at Dr. Simmons. “Of course.”

She beamed, offering her hand to her new boss. “Thank you, sir.”

Coulson shook her hand and then ushered them both to the door. “We’ll be in touch once legal has handled the remaining details, Dr. Simmons.”

She frowned slightly. “How should I reach you if I need to contact you in the meanwhile?”

Coulson furrowed his brow. This was a bit of an unusual situation.

May stepped in. “You can either contact us via Fitz, or if he is unavailable, you can telephone me at my personal line. Phone connections into the base are...complicated.”

“Thank you, Agent May.” Jemma smiled, nodding before she followed Fitz down the hall and up the stairs.

Coulson looked at her, incredulous. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I saw the ring box in his jacket pocket.” May stared him down. “If you had waited just a bit longer, he might have actually asked her.”

Coulson turned on her. “I’m not sure a basement laboratory counts for a romantic marriage proposal venue.”

May smirked. “There are several reason that Dr. Simmons is an ideal candidate for the SSR. Not the least of which is that she might very well find a proposal here -- from Fitz -- to be entirely romantic.”

“True,” he conceded. “But Fitz always seemed like a bit of a romantic.”

“Then he’ll find a better place,” she smiled. “The day isn’t over after all.”

* * *

Hunter grimaced. It was only because Bobbi had physically held him back that Fitz and Dr. Simmons had managed to get so far down the hall. 

Bobbi sighed as he wriggled free of her hold. “Let them be, Hunter.”

“You said yourself that he would propose,” he hissed into her ear. “Do you see a ring on her finger?”

Bobbi squinted after them, frowning. “I’m honestly not sure why I bothered to tell you that.”

“Where do you suppose he will go to do it?” Hunter mused pointedly, as if he hadn’t heard her at all. “Perhaps someplace that means something to them both.”

Her brows furrowed. There was at least one place that Fitz would need to avoid at all costs -- at least for a little while. Coulson’s clean up crew might have physically scrubbed down any evidence in the Exhibition Hall, but you never really knew all the secret tricks Scotland Yard was working on. “Alright. Keep her distracted.”

Hunter grinned. “Oh, Dr. Simmons!” he shouted down the hall.

* * *

Fitz wracked his brain for ideas as they walked slowly to the car. Coulson had kicked him out of the lab. Bobbi had warned him off the exhibition hall and its immediate surroundings for a while. Apparently, police often kept a close eye on the areas where crimes had been committed for a while afterwards, in case the criminals returned to watch the commotion they caused. Their poor little closet would probably not get a visit for several years to come, assuming all went well when he did manage to ask her.

Jemma kept watching him with the oddest expression. He couldn’t tell if she knew…or suspected. But there had to be a more romantic place left aside from this bloody car park. He hadn’t expected getting a few moments alone with her would be this much of a challenge. Maybe he needed to find something that was not nearly so private.

“So…” Jemma’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Where are we headed?”

Fitz bit his lip, trying to ignore the fluttering threatening to overtake his stomach. There really wasn’t all that much left with those exclusions. Even the Ritz hadn’t been ideal. They kept getting interrupted in the bar area, and while his room would afford them both privacy, it wasn’t exactly ideal for a marriage proposal. He wanted her to be comfortable and at ease, even if it meant that he’d have a bit of a challenge. “I thought we might go back to the park a bit.”

“Oh,” she murmured, her voice just a bit higher. 

His stomach dropped. “Is that alright?”

She smiled back at him, reassuringly. “A walk sounds lovely.”

Fitz was being incredibly suspicious, careful to not meet her eyes. He was fidgeting and anxious, which was a bit surprising considering how level headed he had been in their cramped quarters the night before. 

Perhaps he was re-considering everything now that they had succeeded in their mission. Jemma frowned, wondering what she must have done to frighten him so suddenly. Had she been too obvious about how excited she was to see the lab? Or to spend time with him? She was so distracted trying to figure him out that she didn’t even hear him come around the car until he was holding her door open.

They would have to walk a bit, but Jemma could only shuffle forward with growing dread of what Fitz might have to tell her.

Fitz took Jemma’s hand in his, slowing to a bit of a crawl as they walked towards the car. She was definitely dawdling, which suited him just fine as he tried to assemble the proper words. But, as it happened to be a nice day, the park would be crowded and bustling. It was frankly too distracting, and it would be a challenge just trying to locate a more private section for a quiet conversation.

He had been a bit floored, earlier, when he had walked into the lab. Somehow, even though he’d been away for a short while, someone had managed to tidy up all the stray tools and parts in the half hour it had taken to pick Jemma up from her home and return to the base. He had been a bit panicked about the mess on the drive back for her tour. When he saw the neat space, that panic shifted focus. He was certain that someone was already onto him. He wasn’t sure why he thought this secret was unlike any other, but at least whoever had figured him out had kept it quiet for the time being.

Fitz gulped. Of course, that also meant if Jemma said no that he’d have to face each of his co-workers asking him about it. 

He blinked. Jemma, too, would face the same scrutiny. It would be awkward enough if she still wanted to work together. But she had seemed so pleased at the prospect of working in the lab. Could he possibly take that away from her for his own selfish reasons?

It had been so much simpler when they were here the last time. Even if it did involve planning a nearly impossible heist.

Fitz was so preoccupied with his thoughts, but Jemma could swear they were being followed. That girl looked incredibly familiar, her dark hair and dark eyes peering suspiciously over a newspaper that had news of their heist on the cover. Jemma knew for certain she had spotted her shoulder length bob for the third time. Was she one of the cleaning staff who had been at the exhibition hall last night? What if she had identified them?

Jemma squeezed his hand. 

She was fascinated as she watched his Adam’s apple pulse as he gulped thickly. His brows lifted softly. “Yes?”

“I think it might be a bit crowded in the park,” she mused aloud, subtlely peering over his shoulder for that girl. It wouldn’t do to scare him off again anyways.

“Shall we move on, then?”

Jemma smiled widely, spotting the familiar pair of dark eyes in the crowd. The girl, whoever she was, was being very clever at hiding herself. But Jemma was remarkably observant when the safety of those she cared about was on the line. They were very nearly back into the car park and would be able to move out of range of their tail soon. “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

“Those kids are probably in school right now anyways.” She caught only the barest glimpse of Fitz smiling as they turned back the other way. He cleared his throat when he caught her glance. “Any idea where we should go?”

Jemma blushed and turned her gaze back towards the path before them. “I thought you might take me home.”

* * *

Fitz sighed as he escorted Jemma up the walkway to her door. He’d had such marvelous plans -- hasty though they were -- but it seemed as if the cosmos itself had conspired to keep him from proposing.

He stood at the door, watching Jemma walk in. Would this be the last time they spoke? Or were his feelings decidedly one sided once the anxiety-inducing dust had all settled? He watched her wistfully, slumping against the wall as she walked through the open door. His arms hung useless at his sides. Plans be damned. He would just have to settle for working side by side with her in the lab for as long as she would put up with him.

“Fitz,” Jemma leaned against the door, holding it open. “Aren’t you coming in?”


	11. Chapter 11

Jemma wasn’t sure that Fitz’s eyes had ever been so wide as when she asked him to steal the prototype. He blinked rapidly, his jaw slack. She played with her necklace, half-smiling at his confusing reaction. Didn’t he want to come in? “I thought you might be able to help me with something is all.” 

His gaze held fast to hers. He nodded and moved into the hall behind her.

“Thomas,” Jemma called out down the hall, smiling at Fitz as he fell into step beside her.

“Yes, Miss?” Thomas peered out from the kitchen door.

Jemma smiled. “My guest will be with me in the library.”

“Of course, Miss. Did you want some refreshments?”

“Not for the moment.” Jemma frowned, silently considering the offer. “In fact, if Father gets home, I’d appreciate if you could give a bit of notice.”

Thomas barely even quirked a brow at that. “Yes, Miss.”

“Jemma,” Fitz whispered in an uncertain tone. “What are we…?”

“Thank you, Thomas,” she grinned, then tugged Fitz down to the library behind her. 

Fitz was bewildered, but pleasantly so. He was entirely willing to follow wherever she might lead, his hand reaching into his pocket to confirm that the ring was still safely tucked away.

He breathed as the box snapped open in his pocket, the pad of his finger, gliding along the cool metal.

She looked up at him with a smile before opening the library door. “Now,” she smiled widely, “I have another favor to ask of you.”

Fitz raised a brow with a fair bit of humor. “You need to me steal something else?”

He hadn’t expected her bubbly reply. “Exactly.”

“Really?” Fitz was floored. “What else could you possibly need me to take?”

Jemma took a step towards him, speaking softly. “You remember when we first met, right?”

Fitz felt his face go slack as he darted his tongue across his parted lips. He was pretty certain that was something he never would forget, even after a lifetime of memories. He half croaked. “Yes.”

“Well,” her face hovered ever closer. “I don’t know if you recall a book that was in the safe with the other designs...”

Fitz blinked. There had been a small leather bound booklet that looked out of place with the pile of blueprints and spec sheets. “I do, actually.”

“Well,” she frowned. “It’s mine. Not anything to do with my work in the lab, just a brainstorming book I’ve toted around since college.”

“Then,” Fitz muttered, “why did your father have it locked away in there?”

Jemma’s lips pressed into a pencil thin line. “I’m not entirely certain. But, given his position at Roxxon and the odd nature of his company acquiring my former employer, it leaves me to wonder about it quite a bit. The only way to equalize the situation is for me to have the book in my hands and confront him about it.”

Fitz set his jaw. “I wish you had told me earlier. I don’t really have the right supplies. Although I might recall part of the access code.”

Jemma raised a brow. “What do you need?”

* * *

Jemma crept back down the stairs, watching for any sign of Thomas or her Father. Satisfied that the coast was clear, she tiptoed back to the library. Fitz had applied himself to the task of cracking the safe again, pressing his ear against the cool metal and listening for the locking mechanism to catch.

She managed to find a the closest thing she could to match his stethoscope, and she really would have rushed to pass it along to him. Except for the key fact that he had removed his jacket to allow himself better access to the safe.

She bit her lip to keep from making any noise and distracting him in his task. It was actually amazing the difference only a few short days had made. If she had known the level of trust she’d be putting in Fitz after such a short time, she never would have believed it. Truly, she could not have hoped to have a better partner.

Although he did manage to leave quite a mess. Frowning down at the pile, Jemma picked up his jacket to lay it out properly, sending something from his pocket to the floor with a heavy thunk. Her eyes drifted to the base of the desk, widening impossibly. She heavily clamped her hands over her mouth to keep mum, crouching down to pick the tiny box up. 

She peered up at Fitz, amazed to have not alerted him to her presence. He did have one hand up, muffling the sound to the ear he kept closer, his eyes screwed shut in pure concentration, once again coming to her rescue.

She supposed the delicious frisson of pleasure that hummed all the way to her fingers was natural. It was all just too much: the lab, the agency, Fitz himself. All of that alone was amazing. Just the very idea that Fitz might propose, threatened to send her trembling to her knees. Closing her eyes, she fought to hold herself together. She was made of stronger stuff than this.

Resolute, she snuck the box back into the jacket pocket, pausing only a few moments before clearing her throat and holding up something to make his job far easier.

He had turned back to her, smiling brilliantly. “Is that it?”

“Yes,” she whispered, still struggling to find her voice. 

“This should do the trick,” he grinned, admiring the construction and then setting it into place. “I’ve nearly got it open anyways.”

With only a bit more careful work, the lock popped open. He stepped aside, allowing her to take back her book with her own hands.

 

Smiling fondly, Jemma ran her fingers along the worn old cover, cuddling it back into her arms, before she set about turning the rest of the safe to rights. When the safe was latched shut, without another paper disturbed and the oil painting hinged back into place, she turned to Fitz, leaned in, and snuck a kiss to his jaw. “Thank you, Fitz.”

Jemma backed up only a few inches, relishing the dark red flush that coursed to the tips of his ears. But for all of his blushing, he stood still, not moving even an inch. Not towards her. Not away from her. And not towards the secret contained in the pocket of his jacket. It was as if his mind just stopped, his stunningly blue eyes burning holes back into hers.

Smiling nervously, she wondered if it was better not knowing. Now she was bound to overanalyze everything. But maybe that was better. Would he ask her here, in this room where they had first met, under much improved circumstances now that she knew what he was so nervous about?

Fitz moved his hand, perhaps reaching for his jacket pocket. His expressions were fascinating to watch, as his brain moved from sweet, embarrassed silence, into wide-eyed panic. He was no longer focused on her but over at his jacket.

Jemma looked down at her book of designs, flipping through the pages and half-watching Fitz as he dashed over to collect his forgotten jacket. He couldn’t suspect that she knew. It was far too important to her to see exactly what he had planned. 

She bit the inside of her cheek, hoping that he wouldn’t make her wait for very long. 

* * *

Fitz felt entirely off balance. For a few fleeting moments, it was just as if they were back in the closet. But this time, instead of hoping she might return his feelings, he hoped she might accept his proposal.

But the breathlessness he felt gave way to dizziness as he spotted his jacket on the desk, in quite a bit more order than the messy pile he was sure he had left it in. What if the ring had fallen onto the floor? How did it get moved? Did she see it?

He peered back at Jemma, who was suddenly engrossed with her notebook, her eyes flitting across the pages.

Turning back towards the desk, he applied himself to the problem of how to go about subtly recovering his jacket from the desk.

“Oh, Fitz.” She murmured, smiling but not quite tearing her eyes from the page. “I wonder if we might be able to do something with this concept once I get set up in the lab.”

Fitz squinted over her shoulder at the page, strategically. He frowned, still willing his rapid heartbeat to slow and not let her guess that anything might be amiss. “Let me just grab my glasses.”

She nodded, following after him, with her nose mercifully still buried in the notebook.

Biting his lip, he strode over to the desk, feeling first for the ring box which was thankfully still in place. He released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, shuffling up to grab the pair of reading glasses from the breast pocket inside his jacket and slipping them onto the bridge of his nose.

It only occurred to him belatedly that he was quite underdressed, at least for the conventional social standards.

Jemma was gazing at him over the edge of her notebook with just enough of a blush to make him wonder if she had noticed too. It really was the oddest thing. He was just so comfortable in her presence that the frankly more casual mode of dress just felt more natural.

But he was not in a mood to leave anything to chance. If he was still to do this today, he ought to at least be dressed properly. He tugged his jacket on, whispering a hasty apology to Jemma as he closed the distance between them to view her notes.

* * *

Jemma was hyper aware of even Fitz’s slightest movements, but struggled to mask her attentions solidly behind the notebook. She had pored over these designs for long enough that she almost knew the page order by heart. She hadn’t needed the book for the ideas; she needed it to be sure she could still trust her father to act in their shared self interests.

Besides, looking at the notebook was a far more clever ruse than to keep getting caught admiring just how well Fitz looked in a less formal state of dress. She hadn’t had the luxury, or nearly as much of the inclination to indulge in the view while he sat injured in her kitchen. Now, it was another matter entirely. She held the notebook tightly, to keep from reaching out and touching him as he pulled his jacket on over his shoulders.

“Sorry.”

Jemma’s mouth had gone dry, watching him smooth down the suit and tug nervously at the sleeves. She was watching him so closely she hadn’t dared to blink, and now had to blink rapidly to soothe the mild ache. She was entirely puzzled by his low whispered words. She was sorry too, but probably not for the same reasons.

Clearing her throat, Jemma smiled. She could only hope that he moved things along quickly, before the rapidly racing pace of her heart rendered her insensible. “Did you want to look?”

He adjusted his glasses, accepting the book she handed him with trembling fingers. Fitz sharpened his focus on her as their fingers brushed.

“Maybe in a moment,” he murmured, capturing her hand in his own.

Jemma gasped, aware only of the heat from his gaze, from where his thumb traced lazy circles across the back of her palm, and of the fact that her heart thudded impossibly louder in her chest than it ever had before.

And then he sunk down on one knee.

* * *

Her hand was still trembling in his. Fitz swallowed audibly. Her nerves were only amplifying his, but it also made him all the more hopeful. 

He deftly opened the box with his free hand. “Jemma, will you--”

“Yes!” she whispered, excitedly.

Fitz was not precisely sure whether she had actually said the words aloud or imagined it, but his grin widened as he continued. “Marry me.”

“Yes, of course, Fitz,” she declared. Her eyes danced when she finally looked down at the antique ring, a large diamond set against a slender, silver band. “Oh! It’s lovely.”

“It was my Grandmother’s,” he murmured, as he stood his eyes transfixed on hers. Fitz pulled the ring from the box, ready to slip it onto her finger, but was interrupted by an enthusiastic kiss from Jemma -- not that he was complaining.

Jemma tilted her head so her forehead pressed against his, her smile brilliant. “I’ve been so worried that you were trying to tell me something awful!…”

Fitz grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “I’ve been planning this since you kissed me in that closet. I didn’t dare hope you might be as impulsive and foolish as me, but--”

Her lips found his. “You’d be surprised. But when did you find the time to get the ring?”

The tips of his ears grew warm. “I might have sent for a box of belongings from home shortly after we first met.”

She smiled. “Right after we first met?”

Fitz’s lips quirked. “Well, perhaps it was right after I found out those designs were yours…”

Jemma chuckled, slipping her hand into his. Fitz tugged the ring loose of the box, sliding carefully onto the proper finger.

She admired it for a moment before blinking at him in confusion. “It fits quite well...”

He scratched his cheek awkwardly as he looked away. “I had to approximate the measurements until I got a decent sample to measure.”

Her jaw dropped. “You took the ring!”

“And had it sent back to Mr. Daniels when I was done.” Fitz nodded to the ring on her finger. “I took the extra measurements in the lab after I sent the...uh...package on it’s way.”

Jemma raised her brows, sliding the ring off her finger to better admire his work. “There’s a bit of engraving inside.”

Fitz smiled.

“An infinity symbol?”

His face fell at her question. “A sort of mathematical promise.” He sighed, clearly sad that his gesture hadn’t quite hit the mark. “I suppose I could try to re-form the metal and try again if you had some sort o--”

She silenced him very effectively, her fingernails threading through his curls and her lips meeting his with definite enthusiasm. Taking only a spare moment’s breath, she whispered, “Don’t you dare change a thing.”

He smiled serenely, pressing his forehead to hers and pressing a kiss to her knuckle beside the ring. “Only if you come up with something better…”

Jemma grinned, pressing her lips back to his as if they were as familiar as home with a sweetness that grew more raw and desperate with each passing moment.

* * *

Mr. Simmons glared. Thomas had tried to keep him from his own library. The damned nerve of the man. If he had not already spent the better part of a decade finding a butler capable of wrangling the few other staff as well, he’d have the man sacked for it. After the day he’d had under the gun of upper echelon of Roxxon Management, a tipple of scotch was nearly a requirement.

Frowning, he snuck back down the stairs when Thomas headed back to the kitchen. He did not expect his library door to already be open. His jaw dropped as he rounded the corner. Maybe he'd need the full glass after all. “Jemma Simmons!”

“Dad,” she yelped as she and the young man broke apart guiltily.

His eyes narrowed. If he was not mistaken, this was the same young man who had met with Jemma earlier that day at the Ritz. Clever ruffian with blue eyes, indeed. He grimaced. The young upstart had just had his tongue shoved into his daughter’s mouth. He shook his head. “Explain yourself, young lady.”

The young man’s eyes were almost comically wide, but his stubborn girl only placed her hands on her hips. She held up the notebook, the one he could swear was in his safe only yesterday. “I could ask the same of you, Dad.”

Mr. Simmons was furious, barely keeping the throbbing vein above his forehead under control. His jaw clenched tightly. “You don’t know what you’re doing, Jemma.”

“On the contrary,” she assured him with disquieting calm. “This is clearly _my_ notebook, Dad. What are you doing with it?”

His eyes narrowed. Mallick and Garrett were already holding him over a barrel, demanding everything and then some to compensate for the loss of the prototype. Even a few concepts from that book would have re-gained some piece of his power in the equation. 

Her chin lifted high, proudly defiant. Her eyes flashing just as he mother’s had done on rare occasion. “You can either tell me, or I will destroy it.”

Mr. Simmons scoffed, crossing the library to his decanter. “You would destroy your own work?”

His daughter frowned. “I’d prefer not to, but I’d still be able to replicate much of it from memory.”

Pouring proved a challenge, the slight tremble of his hand confirmed that his mastery was not nearly as complete as it should be. “And where would that get you, Jemma? You are still under contract with Iliad.”

“Not for much longer.” 

Mr. Simmons raised an eyebrow, turning as his mind registered the brogue. How had he forgotten about the other man in the room?

Jemma crossed her arms. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have the full battery design details, with my blessing. But--”

Mr. Simmons was rather proud of her in spite of himself. Perhaps she truly had been listening all those years ago to his nuggets of negotiating wisdom at the dinner table. He bit back a grin.

“You need to see to it that I am released from all other contractual obligations,” Jemma continued. “I’ve been offered a better deal. A lead scientist position in a laboratory with my fiancé.”

It was only then that he noticed the ring on his daughter’s finger. The boy was in earnest after all. Mr. Simmons looked down at his scotch, and he began to laugh. 

* * *

“Of course.” May intoned into the telephone.

Bobbi was still sitting in her office working through the Roxxon files, subtly watching her for any hint of a reaction. Hunter was not so subtly pressed against the doorway, eavesdropping. 

“I understand.” May sat stone-faced. “Keep in contact. I’ll provide updates once legal confirms Dr. Simmons's employment status.”

Bobbi stopped what she was doing, watching May as she hung up the phone. The nearly imperceptible twitch at the corner of May’s mouth was telling, and Bobbi couldn’t help but grin.

“Well?” Hunter prodded from the door.

May nodded.

Hunter’s arms launched up as he hollered down the halls. “Fitz, you absolute beauty!”

* * *

Fitz replaced the hallway telephone as Jemma descended down the stairs, small suitcase in hand. He grabbed it from her, falling into step so they walked side-by-side together out to his waiting car. Jemma turned, waving briefly up at her Father.

“You’re giving him the battery?” Fitz whispered as he opened the car door and placed her bag into the boot. “You didn’t really need to do that.”

Jemma smiled, fiddling with her ring as Fitz looped around to the driver’s side. “If you sent the prototype where I think you did, there is no way that Roxxon will be able to hold exclusive rights to the patent. They’d get too tied up in legal challenges, and in that time…”

Fitz grinned as he sat down beside her. “We’ll have come up with something even better.”

She nodded, holding her hand out to his. “Safer and more efficient.”

Lifting her hand up, he pressed a soft kiss to her fingers. His eyes never left hers. “For now, we have a few free days at least. Where shall we head to first?”

Jemma beamed back at him as he prepared to rev the engine. “Somewhere marvelous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story is an art heist and, to my mind, required an appropriate science alternative for the characters. 
> 
> I have been listening to a rather absurd amount of Star Talk and have a very deep appreciation for the very real people at NASA, who develop all sorts of odd technologies that eventually have some excellent real world application. That said, battery technology was making leaps and bounds in this time frame and NASA was genuinely a large driving force behind that.
> 
> Spy gear in the 1960s was heavily reliant on bugging/listening in technologies. Fitz is certainly clever enough to get the SSR a half step ahead even just on his own.
> 
> The Olympia is actually an exhibition hall in England dating back quite far. However, there are no really convenient maps. The proximity of anyone of consequence is essentially fictional and is more a tip of the hat to the original movie.
> 
> Any other questions? Comment here or message me (by the same author name) on Tumblr.


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